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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25642918">When the Wolves Come Home</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pawprinter/pseuds/Pawprinter'>Pawprinter</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The 100 (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Accidental Baby Acquisition, Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Alternate Universe - Percy Jackson Fusion, Angst, Battle Couple, Canon-Typical Violence, Demigod Bellamy Blake, Demigod Clarke Griffin, Endgame Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin, F/M, Falling In Love, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Minor Character Death, Mutual Pining, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Alternating, Road Trips, Sharing a Bed, Slow Burn, Smut, Strangers to Lovers, Temporary Amnesia, no knowledge of percy jackson needed!</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 11:49:31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>48,720</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25642918</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pawprinter/pseuds/Pawprinter</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>In a world filled with monsters trying to kill him, demigod enemies, and angry Greek deities, it was remarkable that the second most screwed up thing to happen in Bellamy’s life was meeting Clarke Griffin.</p><p>When he left the world of Greek gods behind, he had no intentions of ever returning. No more quests, no more ties to Olympus, and no more pain.</p><p>
  <em>The mission changed that.</em>
</p><p>Seven years after he left Camp Half-Blood, he’s pulled right back in<em>—all because of her.</em></p><p>As they travel across the country to a place that should’ve been home for both of them but never was, they will have to face demons from pasts they’ve tried to run from and confront truths they were never meant to discover.</p><p>And, whether Bellamy and Clarke like it or not, they are going to have to do it together.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>294</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>629</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Bellarke Big Bang 2020</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Art by goddess-clarke</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Welcome to Bellarke Big Bang 2020, an event hosted on Tumblr! To learn more about this amazing event, head on over to their Tumblr <a href="https://bellarkebigbang.tumblr.com">here</a> :)</p><p>The companion art to this fic is made by the absolutely lovely <a href="https://goddess-clarke.tumblr.com">goddess-clarke</a>. You're a gem, my dear, and I'm so thankful for all your hard work.</p><p>The content of the fic starts in the next chapter.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
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<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Bellamy Sends a God to Voicemail</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>As always, a few notes before we get started!</p><ul>
<li>This is a slight Percy Jackson &amp; the Olympian AU, but<strong> absolutely no knowledge of this world or Greek mythology is needed!</strong> This fic is written with the intention that anyone can pick it up and understand what is going on. The basic premise of these books are that the gods, heroes and monsters from Greek mythology are still around to this day in America, and there are descendants of these gods that train at a place called Camp Half-Blood. Everything else is provided in the text, but feel free to ask questions in the comments if needed.</li>
<li>
<strong>Warnings</strong>. I usually put warnings at the top of each chapter, so keep an eye out for these if you're curious. Warnings for the overall fic include: canon-typical violence (canon, referring to The 100), coarse language, and sexual content. </li>
</ul><p>A huge thank you goes out to Lai (<a href="https://twitter.com/trustbeilamy">@trustbeIlamy</a> on Twitter), Jen (<a href="https://eyessharpweaponshot.tumblr.com">eyessharpweaponshot</a> on Tumblr), and Mags (<a href="https://goddess-clarke.tumblr.com">goddess-clarke</a> on Tumblr) for being the best support system I could ask for. These three lovely ladies pre-read the first eight chapters of this fic, listened to endless rants, shared ideas, and guided me while I fumbled through this fic. This fic wouldn't be in the state it is in without them and they have my endless thanks.</p><p>Enjoy.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Bellamy wasn’t sure why he still had a ‘go bag.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After all, it had been years since the first time he left his old home, sprinting as fast as he could go, a worn backpack slung over his shoulder and fear coursing through his veins.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Years.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>A lot had changed since then; he had more scars than when he was twelve—both visible and not; he had traded the heavy air of Oregon for the dry summers and open skies of California long ago; he knew </span>
  <em>
    <span>exactly </span>
  </em>
  <span>what it felt like to </span>
  <em>
    <span>finally </span>
  </em>
  <span>have a home, just as he knew exactly what it felt like for it to be ripped away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yet, the backpack remained.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The bag sat at the back of the hallway closet, partially buried under Christmas decorations. It smelled deeply of dust, as did the contents inside his bag. Everything in it had been carefully selected—</span>
  <em>
    <span>just in case.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Just in case of what, Bellamy wasn’t too sure.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Not until </span>
  </em>
  <b>
    <em>he</em>
  </b>
  <em>
    <span> visited.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He appeared in the mirror of Bellamy’s bathroom just before sunset. Despite it being many years since he last saw the camp director, his identity was unmistakable—the leopard print shirt ensured that. That was the thing with immortal gods; long after Bellamy’s body had turned to dust, the man in front of him wouldn’t have aged a day.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bellamy’s fist curled around the tube of toothpaste and </span>
  <em>
    <span>years </span>
  </em>
  <span>of repressed hurt and bitterness rose to the surface. It felt like it was just yesterday that he was sixteen and sprinting out of the camp gates. He could still feel how the mud slid under his shoes as he ran, and how his chest felt like it was caving in from the grief, and how he screamed until his throat went raw.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yet, that was seven years ago.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Block,” the camp director greeted him by the wrong name. Typical. Bellamy’s jaw clenched and he sucked in a slow breath through his nose. “Good to see you, my boy. You’re looking older.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was seven years ago that he vowed to put everything behind him—the hope, and the desperation to belong, and the injustice that the world he protected didn’t give two shits about him. He let go of his bright orange t-shirt, and his plated armour, and his beaded necklace, and—</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Everything.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Including this.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not your boy,” Bellamy bit out. He set down his toothbrush and paste along the side of the sink, his hands flexing across the cool white porcelain. “Don’t you remember; we don’t like each other, or has time been unkind to you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was dangerous, testing the anger of a Greek god like this, but he was so far past caring. </span>
  <em>
    <span>He was seven years past caring.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>When he was sixteen, he imagined this moment more than he’d like to admit. It took him a long time to accept that he didn’t belong in the world of Greek gods and monsters. It took him an even longer time to stop hoping that they’d reach out to him and confess to their mistakes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As a teenager, he had a rough outline of what he wanted to say—he wasn’t big on planning and executing. But, when things were rough, he’d stare up at the stars and imagine how good it would feel to look Mr. D</span>
  <em>
    <span>—Dionysus—</span>
  </em>
  <span>in the eyes and tell him to fuck off.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Except, now that he was living in that moment, his mouth refused to work. He was frozen to the spot, unable to suck in a single breath. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was a teenager again; angry, and broken, and desperate, and—</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What do you want?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dionysus’ grin made Bellamy want to drive his fist through the mist connecting them, right into his mouth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Listen, I know you’re, uh… </span>
  <em>
    <span>in retirement—”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He laughed at that—a true, loud laugh. He inched forward, his jaw locked and his knuckles groaning and fire in his eyes. “I was fucking kicked out of your world,” he hissed. Dionysus’ mouth fell shut. “Actually, I don’t care what you want. You can fuck off.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He lifted his hand, intending to swipe across the mist in front of the mirror and end the Iris Message. As the older man caught sight of what he was doing, he lunged forward, his eyes widening with a shock Bellamy hadn’t seen before.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wait! Wait!”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Bellamy hesitated.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Maybe it made him a bad person, but there was a certain satisfaction that came with seeing this man </span>
  <em>
    <span>begging. </span>
  </em>
  <span>It wasn’t too long ago that their positions were reversed—it was Bellamy on his knees, begging Dionysus to show mercy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was tempted to tell him an echo of what he said all those nights ago. He wanted to end the Iris Message, snuffing out his hope along with it. He wanted to put this man through a taste of the hell he put him through.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>But he didn’t.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Maybe he was the monster the world tried to paint him to be, but he wanted this to go on just a </span>
  <em>
    <span>little </span>
  </em>
  <span>bit longer; he wanted to draw as much as he could from his old mentor; he wanted him to beg, just as he did, and spit it all back at him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Give me one reason not to end this call right now,” he said roughly.</span>
  <em>
    <span> “Give me one reason.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Come on, kid. What happened to all our </span>
  <em>
    <span>memories </span>
  </em>
  <span>together? All our times we sat around a fire, toasting marshmallows, and sharing stories about the battles we won, and—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know, I </span>
  <em>
    <span>do </span>
  </em>
  <span>remember some memories from camp.” Bellamy’s throat tightened. “I remember the night where I was thrown out of the barrier; August 24th, which just so happened to be less than a week after my sister </span>
  <em>
    <span>died in my fucking arms. </span>
  </em>
  <span>You’re right—I had </span>
  <em>
    <span>very </span>
  </em>
  <span>good memories at camp, many of them including you, Mr. D; like the time you and Chiron told me I had to leave, and the time you wouldn’t let me attend Octavia’s funeral, and the time where you told me to go out there and </span>
  <em>
    <span>die </span>
  </em>
  <span>for you and the other gods. Do I need to tell you why I don’t want anything to do with you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mr. D’s smile didn’t waver and it made Bellamy seethe. “That happened years ago. I think it’s time we put it in the past.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bellamy was sick of this. He’d tried so hard to put this all behind him. He tried so hard to forget all the summers he spent at Camp Half-Blood, and all the friends during his temporary stay in the Hermes Cabin, and all the hours he spent at the archery range. He tried so hard to forget about how losing his sister felt like his heart had been physically ripped from his chest, and how his shirt was still stained with her blood when he was forced from camp, and how </span>
  <em>
    <span>horrible </span>
  </em>
  <span>it was to have everything he knew ripped away from him—again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What do you want?” Bellamy pressed. He was slowly losing his grip on this calm anger boiling just under his skin.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I have a job for you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t want a job, especially not from the camp.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s not… It’s not </span>
  <em>
    <span>exactly </span>
  </em>
  <span>from the camp.” He stroked his beard carefully. “Listen, kid, consider this a more… </span>
  <em>
    <span>personal </span>
  </em>
  <span>quest. Alright? None of that fancy hero in shining armour stuff you’re used to.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His grip tightened and, for a brief second, he was back seven years ago, talking with this same man. His expression was cool and bored, as if he didn’t care about the fate of one of his precious campers, and he told him to go. He was the one to say it in the first place, all those years ago.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>He wasn’t a hero. It was time he stopped pretending to be one.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>The day he sprinted away from Camp Half-Blood was the same day he decided he was done with it all; the fighting, the quests, the </span>
  <em>
    <span>hero shit. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Bellamy’s smile was sharp. “I’m not a hero. I never was-—never will be.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>It was an eerie echo to the words used the day he left camp.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Mr. D waved his hand dismissively. “That’s not important.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>He didn’t recognize the words.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Bellamy let out a breathless laugh and looked away from the Iris Message. His teeth were sharp against the side of his cheek. He wasn’t a stranger to the pain that bloomed out from his chest. The bone-deep hurt radiated to his fingertips and his toes and—</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He wanted to hang on to his white-hot rage, but he could feel his eyes burning with tears.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was something </span>
  <em>
    <span>horrible </span>
  </em>
  <span>that came with knowing that the words that haunted him for so long were words that Dionysus didn’t even remember. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>What was a defining moment in his life was simply another day in his.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dionysus kept talking, oblivious to the way Bellamy was gripping his sink and aching for his bow. “What </span>
  <em>
    <span>is </span>
  </em>
  <span>important is the fact that I’m calling you </span>
  <em>
    <span>specifically. </span>
  </em>
  <span>I hand-picked you for the job!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not interested.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He hated how wrecked he sounded.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You don’t know what the job is.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t need the details of the quest. I already know it’s screwed up.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When he was sixteen and bitter, being kicked out of Camp Half-Blood and being forced to leave the world of Greek mythology behind was the worst thing to happen to him. He was raw from grief and guilt. He had more rage in his veins than breath in his lungs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now, at twenty-three, he liked to think he gained some clarity after the burning rage turned to embers. Gods would ask their half-mortal children to go on long and dangerous quests for them, all because they were </span>
  <em>
    <span>heroes. </span>
  </em>
  <span>People died—</span>
  <em>
    <span>children died—</span>
  </em>
  <span>all so Greek gods didn’t have to get their hands dirty. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They might’ve been their blood, but they were insignificant and disposable in their eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wasn’t going back to that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wasn’t going to risk his life for an immortal god. He wasn’t going to sacrifice himself for them, or give up </span>
  <em>
    <span>anything </span>
  </em>
  <span>just because they asked for it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maybe he was willing to die for them at one time, but that was long ago. He was a kid doing what he was told. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now that he knew what the world was </span>
  <em>
    <span>truly </span>
  </em>
  <span>about—now that he could see their bullshit for what it was—he wasn’t going back to that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This isn’t a quest, Blake. For it to be a quest, you’d have to be one of our campers and you’d have to visit the oracle.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You made it </span>
  <em>
    <span>very </span>
  </em>
  <span>clear that I’m not to involve myself with the affairs of the gods. Send one of your demigods for all I care.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can’t.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re </span>
  <em>
    <span>not </span>
  </em>
  <span>eager to throw a barely trained child head-first into danger? That’s shocking. When’d you become a responsible caretaker?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dionysus’ nostrils flared. Bellamy was </span>
  <em>
    <span>sure </span>
  </em>
  <span>that the god was going to deal out some sort of punishment, but it never came. Even if it did, Bellamy wasn’t too sure if he’d care. He didn’t regret a single word.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Although, you must be desperate if you’re asking </span>
  <em>
    <span>me </span>
  </em>
  <span>to do this personal quest for you,” Bellamy added after a lull. “Considering how much you hate me and my father—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m asking you to take this </span>
  <em>
    <span>job </span>
  </em>
  <span>because you’re the closest half-mortal in the area.” Dionysus straightened. The image of the tired camp director flickered and, for a moment, Bellamy could see the ancient and heroic god he truly was. A chill washed through him. “Things are not as they should be.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For a reason he could not explain, Bellamy stilled, his hand inches away from severing the call. There was something </span>
  <em>
    <span>calling to </span>
  </em>
  <span>him. He was drawn to whatever Dionysus was saying. Long ago, he stopped believing in the Fates, but he hadn’t felt something like this before.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He swallowed thickly. His hand dropped to the vanity.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s happening?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dionysus pursed his lips. “It’s… complicated.” He was conflicted for a moment longer. “You understand the natural order of the world, I assume. Dead things are supposed to stay dead.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Bellamy thought of Octavia.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>‘Yes,’ </span>
  </em>
  <span>he wanted to say. </span>
  <em>
    <span>‘I know the natural order of things too well.’</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Dead people—mortals, half-mortals, demigods—they stayed dead.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Monsters were more complicated than that; they could come back to life after they were slain in battle, but that usually took years to happen. It was one of the many perks to being immortalized in myths and legends.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?” Bellamy bit out. “Are dead things not staying dead?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The thought amused him. He thought back to the myth of Asclepius bringing Hippolytus back to life and Zeus striking him down. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Death was natural, </span>
  </em>
  <span>even to Greek gods. It was one of the few constants left in the world—both mortal and divine; </span>
  <em>
    <span>dead things stayed dead. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Nobody could change that—</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bellamy’s heart stopped.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Things are changing,” Dionysus said slowly. “Zeus has been oddly silent on the matter. Communications are spotty at best. Out of all of it, the most troublesome thing is the fact nothing dead is staying dead for long. As soon as monsters disintegrate, they begin to reform, as if time itself is turning backwards. It’s been working with humans too, although less frequently.” Bellamy’s skin crawled. “Mortals and half-mortals… they’ve been coming back to life.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This information made him feel dizzy. Dionysus was right earlier—Death was </span>
  <em>
    <span>natural order. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Evading death was unnatural and wrong.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He hated that he was hesitating. He knew that he should hang up. He knew that he should leave the business of the gods to the gods because </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck them </span>
  </em>
  <span>and—</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You mentioned earlier that I’m in the area.” Bellamy’s mind was racing, trying to fit pieces of the puzzle together. “What does that mean? How am I supposed to fix this if—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dionysus snorted. “You? Fix this? No.” He leaned forward. “You live in Fresno, don’t you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It rubbed Bellamy the wrong way, the idea that the gods still kept track of where he was despite it being years since he dealt with anything from their world. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Your job is simply to go to Las Vegas, pick up a… </span>
  <em>
    <span>package </span>
  </em>
  <span>for me, and deliver it to me on Long Island. Easy, isn’t it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nothing was ever easy with Greek gods.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re desperate,” he pointed out. “You called </span>
  <em>
    <span>me. </span>
  </em>
  <span>You’re begging </span>
  <em>
    <span>me. </span>
  </em>
  <span>This is more than just a package.” He lifted his eyebrows. “Are you going to tell me what this really is about?”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Silence.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Bellamy scowled. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He owed Camp Half-Blood nothing, just as he didn’t owe this man—</span>
  <em>
    <span>Greek god—</span>
  </em>
  <span>anything.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’re done here,” he said shortly, his hand raising again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fine! </span>
  <em>
    <span>Fine!” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Dionysus slumped forward, his fingers pressed to his temple. “It’s not a package, per say. It’s more like… a person.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bellamy nearly fainted.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re asking me to </span>
  <em>
    <span>kidnap someone!? </span>
  </em>
  <span>Are you fucking—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Language!” he chastised. “She needs to come to camp, it’s not safe—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re asking me to drive to Vegas, kidnap someone, and bring them to you? You’re serious right now? You’re— fucking hell.” Bellamy blew out a long breath. “We’re done here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Blake—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bellamy ran his hand through the misty image in front of him, ending the call.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was a brief moment of pure silence that followed, the only sound coming from his ragged breathing. Instead of Dionysus’ piercing eyes staring back at him in front of the mirror, it was his own eyes—eyes that were much more haunted than they were only hours ago.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He sucked in a few steady breaths and blinked rapidly. Everything happened so fast—everything had changed so quickly. He wondered if he imagined it all; the call, the request, the desperation.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But, no, he doubted that his imagination could come up with the absolutely ridiculous request of </span>
  <em>
    <span>kidnapping </span>
  </em>
  <span>a </span>
  <em>
    <span>girl </span>
  </em>
  <span>from a hotel in Las Vegas and delivering her to the Greek gods.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He couldn’t have imagined how </span>
  <em>
    <span>raw </span>
  </em>
  <span>he felt either. It was as though every old wound had been ripped back open, scars be damned. The hurt he claimed to have left in the past now radiated through his body, reminding him that it would never truly be gone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He pushed away from his vanity, his toothbrush long forgotten.</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>Sleep didn’t come easy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Even after the sun disappeared beyond the horizon, painting the sky red and purple before fading to black, his mind didn’t grow quiet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His gaze traced the familiar constellations of the sky. There was a time in his life where he’d stay up late on the beach and watch the stars, dreaming of the corresponding myths of heroes saving mankind and battling monsters and </span>
  <em>
    <span>doing good. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>For a while, he found comfort in the stars because it reminded him he wasn’t alone. He wasn’t the only hero out there; there were </span>
  <em>
    <span>hundreds </span>
  </em>
  <span>of descendants of the gods around the world. Even during his darkest days as a kid, he was never truly alone—he belonged to something bigger than just himself.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Bellamy used to love Greek mythology.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>It was the one thing he clung to as he was expelled from schools and stayed in hospitals with his mother. More often than not, it was </span>
  <em>
    <span>all </span>
  </em>
  <span>he could cling to — never having anything else consistent in his life.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was why, when he was twelve, that it felt like his life </span>
  <em>
    <span>finally </span>
  </em>
  <span>changed for good when he was discovered by a satyr and brought to Camp Half-Blood. Suddenly, the world of Greek gods and heroes didn’t just belong to the pages—it belonged in real life.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>It was his life.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>At Camp Half-Blood, things finally felt </span>
  <em>
    <span>right. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Everything made sense; all the running, and the trouble, and the fact that he never knew who his father was—it all made sense.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was a demigod. He had the blood of the Greek gods in his veins. </span>
  <em>
    <span>He was born to be a hero.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>It was only after everything started falling apart that he began to hate Greek mythology.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As he held his sister in his arms as she died, he realized </span>
  <em>
    <span>this wasn’t right. </span>
  </em>
  <span>That night, he realized just how selfish and arrogant the Greek gods could be.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Octavia was a fourteen-year-old kid. </span>
  </em>
  <span>She shouldn’t have been on a quest, not because immortal beings told her to. She was fourteen; she shouldn’t have been a warrior.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Even before he was kicked out of camp, he was bitter, and angry, and </span>
  <em>
    <span>grieving. </span>
  </em>
  <span>It only got worse when he was forced beyond the barrier and thrown into the mortal world.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was one thing he knew to be true; Greek gods didn’t care about them.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>So, why did Dionysus care about the girl in Las Vegas?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Bellamy couldn’t stop thinking of her, whoever she was. The information he had was fragmented at best, and what he did know didn’t make the most sense. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Things weren’t dying. There was a girl in Las Vegas. The god of wine was requesting her to come to camp. He wasn’t sure what role she played, but he knew that she was connected with the horrifying news that nothing could die.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And Dionysus’ words… </span>
  <em>
    <span>“She needs to come to camp, it’s not safe.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>The girl in Las Vegas was in trouble, he could feel it in his soul.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Someone was in trouble and </span>
  <em>
    <span>he </span>
  </em>
  <span>was being asked to help. He knew that the gods wouldn’t do anything about her; they didn’t care about their half-mortal children.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Her fate was resting on his shoulders.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Bellamy pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes until he saw stars. His head throbbed. He felt sick and fragmented and—</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Why was he considering this?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>It was an easy answer; because there was someone out there who was in trouble, and it was up to him to do something about it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>If he didn’t go, the girl was going to be abandoned. She was going to be left alone to fend for herself, just like he was when he was sixteen and shunned by the gods. He knew how horrible that fate was, just as he knew the stubbornness and selfishness of the gods.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wanted to tell Dionysus to screw off. He wanted to abandon them in their time of need, just as they did to him. He wanted to stay firmly in the world of mortals and leave the business of the gods to their children.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But he couldn’t abandon her.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Her; whoever she was.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuck me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He pulled his go bag from under the string of loose fairy lights and brushed the dust off. The material of the brand new bag was stiff under his shaking fingers. The half-dozen golden drachma were where he left them in the front pouch.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>He couldn’t believe he was doing this.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>The second Iris Message of the day was made in his bathroom. The words that followed him throwing the coin into the mist were spoken as second nature.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Oh Iris, goddess of the Rainbow, please accept my offering. Show me Dionysus.” Bellamy didn’t hesitate when the connection was fully formed between them. “Who is she?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dionysus set down his glass and simply lifted his eyebrows. “I take it that you’re interested in the job?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bellamy’s jaw tightened. “I’m interested. Talk.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You understand, Blake, don’t you? You’re going to Las Vegas, picking her up, and bringing her straight here. You understand?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bellamy ground his teeth together. “Start by telling me; who is she?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dionysus’ smirk made Bellamy question his decisions.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Her name is Clarke Griffin.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bellamy swallowed thickly. “Clarke Griffin,” he echoed, testing her name on his lips. “I’m going to need more than that if you want me to do this job. Where is she—and, yes, I’m going to need you to be more specific than Las Vegas.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Clarke currently resides in a </span>
  <em>
    <span>questionable </span>
  </em>
  <span>establishment. You heard of the Lotus Hotel and Casino?” He shook his head. “There’s a reason for that. Let’s just say, the hotel is a black hole. You know your science, don’t you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Get to the point,” he snapped.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Lotus Hotel is a beacon of sorts for demigods and other half-mortals; the building draws you in and you </span>
  <em>
    <span>want </span>
  </em>
  <span>to stay. And, you know black holes; time runs differently in them.” He waved his hands in dismissal. “Whatever. Mortal mumbo-jumbo. Point is, this hotel itself is </span>
  <em>
    <span>dangerous </span>
  </em>
  <span>for you kids. You go there, you don’t come back out.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fantastic,” Bellamy bit out. “Of course that’s where this girl is, </span>
  <em>
    <span>of course. </span>
  </em>
  <span>It’s never easy with you people, is it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dionysus took a long sip from his glass. “You should know by now; sometimes you have to work hard for something worthwhile.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His hands curled into fists. He fought to maintain his composure. “You done lecturing me about how me risking my life is worth it? I need more info. What’s the situation? Why am I going to get her?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He assumed that it was because she was a demigod trapped in the Lotus Hotel. He was </span>
  <em>
    <span>prepared </span>
  </em>
  <span>for that answer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She’s being hunted by monsters and demigods alike, and she doesn’t even know it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why?”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>He was not prepared for the truth.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“I believe Clarke Griffin </span>
  <em>
    <span>might </span>
  </em>
  <span>be causing the complications to death in recent times.” Bellamy’s mouth snapped shut. “There’s a good chance that her powers have manifested recently—a product of being a descendent of the gods.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His mind raced.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So, what? She’s… She’s a daughter of the Big Three? A daughter of Hades?” He left before many children of the Big Three sprang up, but he knew it was possible. He met one, a daughter of Zeus, when he was still at camp. He heard rumours of a son of Poseidon, but he went out of his way to ignore news from his old world. “If she’s able to control death, she </span>
  <em>
    <span>has </span>
  </em>
  <span>to be his daughter. Although, that means Hades broke the pact.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It made sense. Hades was the god of the dead and ruler of the Underworld. He was one of the three most powerful gods—that title being split between him, Zeus, and Poseidon. If Clarke controlled the dead, she had to be the daughter of a powerful god. After all, there was a reason why the Pact of the Big Three existed; their children were extremely powerful.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not exactly.” Dionysus tapped his fingers along his desk impatiently. “You’ve been gone far too long, Blake.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That wasn’t exactly up to me, was it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fair point.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He grit his teeth. “Who is she?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A beat, then—</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Clarke Griffin is my granddaughter.”</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I currently have 25 chapters planned for this fic, but if you know me, you know I'm horrible at estimating fic lengths. I'll keep you all posted as I work through the rest of the fic :) The goal is to keep these updates weekly.</p><p>Thank you for reading. If you've come here from Paint me in Trust, I adore you and I can't wait to share another wild ride with you.</p><p>Paw<br/>Come find me on Tumblr <a href="https://pawprinterfanfic.tumblr.com/">here!</a></p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Clarke Shoots Her Shot</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thank you for the lovely responses on the first chapter.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Clarke had never been happier.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She dove under the waves again, basking in the pressure against her skin, and the air bubbles running along her arms, and the coolness that washed away the hot Vegas sun. She couldn’t remember exactly what she was comparing it to, but she decided she preferred this clear and cool pool to the ones she was used to.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She remained underwater for as long as she could manage. Her eyes burned against the chlorine water, but the pain was worth the quietness that followed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Being underwater was comforting. It reminded her of home, and childhood, and frozen popsicles, and watermelon slices. It was the only place she’d been able to find a second to herself ever since she arrived in Vegas.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She lazily watched the sun dance along the surface of the water and, briefly, she wished that she could take a snapshot of this moment. The light rays were so peaceful and so warm and so comforting.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clarke wished it could last forever.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The coolness of the water. The silence. The beauty of the light. The memories of childhood and safety.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She broke the surface gasping.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“God, Clarke. Breathe, much?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clarke blinked the water from her eyes, coming face to face with Josephine. She was perched along the side of the pool, her face tilted towards the glass ceiling and her feet kicking small waves into the water. She pulled down her sunglasses and arched an eyebrow.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Swim, much?” Clarke splashed some water in her direction and she scowled. “Oh, come on. You’re at the pool, you should swim!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m working on my tan, babe.” Josephine turned back to the sky. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clarke kicked onto her back and floated in the calm water, letting her mind wonder. Her gaze studied the glass ceilings, which supposedly turned the pool room into a replica of a hot roof pool. Why they didn’t just put the pool on the roof was beyond her—the hotel seemed to go through lots of trouble to </span>
  <em>
    <span>replicate </span>
  </em>
  <span>it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You should take my lead. You’ve been here for two weeks, but you have nothing to show for it,” Josephine added after a long beat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hm. Had it already been two weeks? It was hard to remember exactly. She could barely remember what came before her vacation; her mind was filled with memories of days in the pool, and playing darts, and dancing at the club, and—</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ve been here for two weeks and can say with absolute confidence that you spend most of your day working on your tan.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s what happens when your family owns the place,” Josephine sang. “Besides, like you’re hard pressed because of that. You act like me </span>
  <em>
    <span>graciously </span>
  </em>
  <span>upgrading you to the penthouse and gracing you with my presence is such a drag.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>True. Josephine had been kind and gave her perks. Maybe she was a little cynical and self-absorbed, but whatever.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The last two weeks had been good. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Really </span>
  </em>
  <span>good. For the first time in as long as she could remember, she felt </span>
  <em>
    <span>good. </span>
  </em>
  <span>She felt like she could truly be herself without someone being disappointed with the result.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuck. I don’t want this week to end,” she moaned, squeezing her eyes shut. “Just one more week and then it’s back to the shitshow. Gag me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maybe your mom won’t be up your ass when you get home,” she suggested, not sounding very hopeful.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As soon as Josephine said those words, the dread she had for leaving made sense. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>She was arguing with her mom. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>It was hard to remember what the argument was about; it felt so far away. Clarke guessed that she made a good choice taking off to Vegas when things got heated—time apart really was a good thing. Considering she could barely remember what they argued about and she couldn’t feel a sliver of the rage she had when she arrived at the hotel, she had hope that they’d both be able to talk like adults and work out their issues—whatever those were.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’ll be fine,” Clarke said. “We’re both over it by now. Two weeks is enough for both of us to chill. I’m just worried she’ll bite my head off when I come home. I didn’t even leave her a note.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Again, as soon as the words left her mouth, the memory followed. Clarke recalled grabbing her suitcase, storming past her mother’s empty room, buying a plane ticket out of there, and never looking back. She didn’t leave a note to let her mom know where she was going, or that she was alright. She </span>
  <em>
    <span>wanted </span>
  </em>
  <span>her to suffer, even only for a little bit.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Maybe she was as cruel as her mother said she was. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Her heart twinged at that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If she’s anything like my mom, she’ll be on her hands and knees </span>
  <em>
    <span>thanking you </span>
  </em>
  <span>for coming home.” Josephine kicked some water out towards Clarke. “And if she isn’t, then just remind her how easy it is for you to walk out of her life. She’ll reconsider then.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>If Clarke was cruel, then Josephine was worse. Clarke met the girl on the second day into her stay at the Lotus Hotel, and she knew this much already. She could be sweet when she wanted and was fun to hang out with, but she had a temper and a superiority complex. Clarke doubted that she’d be writing her once she returned home.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Besides,” she continued, “you can always just stay here forever.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Somehow, spending more than two weeks in Vegas with Josephine felt like it belonged in hell. There was only so much she could tolerate.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I need to go home soon.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you really?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I have things to do.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Josephine kicked some water at her. “What things?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For the life of her, she couldn’t remember. Something with work and school. It was summer, wasn’t it? Wasn’t she starting school again in a month? She wasn’t too sure.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Important things.” Clarke splashed her hands beside her, focusing on how the water felt running through her fingers. “We’ve both had time to cool off. At most, she’ll do the whole ‘I’m not mad, just disappointed’ thing and it’ll be back to normal.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>She thought.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Clarke couldn’t quite remember what they fought about before leaving. Maybe it was over something small and meaningless? Then again, she </span>
  <em>
    <span>did </span>
  </em>
  <span>run away to Vegas for two weeks without telling her mother where she went, so she doubted it was over anything small.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Then why couldn’t she remember it?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>A wave of panic washed over Clarke, snuffing out the peace she felt only moments ago. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Why couldn’t she remember?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Her heart pounded against her chest, and her mind spun, and—</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re spiralling,” Josephine commented tiredly. “Just do your dive thing again before you have a cow. Oh, and,” she lowered her glasses, “try not to drown. I’m not in the mood to fish your dead body from the water today.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clarke squeezed her eyes tightly. Her pulse had skyrocketed and it felt like she was being crushed with panic and—</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She sucked in a deep breath and dove under the water again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Seconds later, she couldn’t remember what she had been worried about.</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>She had settled into a routine over the last two weeks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wake up. Have breakfast at one of the small restaurants in the east wing of the hotel. Swim from ten ‘til two, when the sun was at its peak and warmed the pool room perfectly. Get lunch. Spend the remainder of the day wondering the casino and arcade; play some games, win some money, have some fun and feel </span>
  <em>
    <span>free. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Dance at Sanctum until the sun rose. Rinse and repeat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The days had started to bleed together before the first week had ended. In some ways, it felt like she had been staying at the Lotus Hotel for longer than two weeks. In others, she was sure it hadn’t been a single day. She blamed the blur of time on the sleep deprivation and headaches.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her entrance into the dining booth was graceless. She was exhausted and was tempted to sleep for a few hours, but was being dragged around by Josephine, claiming they barely had any time left together and she wanted to get every second out of it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just drink some coffee,” she snapped when Clarke’s forehead hit the table.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m confident that I’m too far gone for coffee. I’ve already had three cups and it’s only—” She glanced down at her watch on habit, despite knowing the batteries died as soon as she got to Vegas. “What time is it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know. Five o’clock somewhere though, right?” Josephine reached for the drink menu.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m serious.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So am I. What do you think? Too tacky to order a Vegas Bomb while in Vegas?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You </span>
  <em>
    <span>live </span>
  </em>
  <span>in Vegas, Jo. Your whole life is tacky.” Clarke stretched her neck to glance towards the front doors, just catching enough of the clock to see it was only three in the afternoon. “Fuck. Maybe I will have another coffee.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Josephine smirked. “That’s my girl. I’m going to talk to Cillian, ‘kay? He’ll make sure he doesn’t burn my eggs again. Asshole.” With that, the other girl slipped from the booth, leaving Clarke alone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The restaurant itself was fairly busy. Clarke wasn’t too sure how many restaurants resided in the Lotus Hotel; all she knew was that there were so many that she hadn’t been to all of them yet. No matter where they went, there were at least </span>
  <em>
    <span>dozens </span>
  </em>
  <span>of people there, too. Josephine told her a while ago that the Lotus Hotel and Casino was one of the more popular hotels in Vegas.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Except, Clarke hadn’t heard of it before.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>‘Exclusive, too,’ </span>
  </em>
  <span>Josephine had added with a wink, as if that had explained everything.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clarke’s head fell to her hands and she massaged her temples. Her head was </span>
  <em>
    <span>killing </span>
  </em>
  <span>her. Maybe another coffee was a bad idea. She needed to sleep before this turned into a full migraine. She had those, didn’t she? Back home?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The question came and left her so quickly that she barely acknowledged it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She glanced towards the clock again. </span>
  <em>
    <span>3:04 PM. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Gods, this day felt like it was taking forever to go by. Maybe that was a good thing. Did she really want to go back home? Wasn’t she mad at her mom?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before she could ponder this thought too much, her attention was drawn towards a single man standing right outside the double glass doors. If she didn’t know any better, she would’ve swore he was staring </span>
  <em>
    <span>right at her. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>But, before she could get a good look at him, he was turning and walking in the opposite direction again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clarke rolled her eyes. He was wearing an obnoxiously loud floral shirt and sunglasses. Douchebags and hungover people wore sunglasses inside—she should know; she was one of them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ugh. Hangovers sucked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She glanced at the clock again. </span>
  <em>
    <span>3:05 PM. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Today was going to be a long one.</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>“Are you sure you’re going to be okay on your own?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clarke wasn’t sure how much time had passed, but her headache had vanished along with her thoughts about mothers and home.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll be fine,” she replied. Josephine frowned. “I’m serious. Just go. If your dad is making you come to his office, I’m sure it’s important. He’s never done that before, has he?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was a genuine question. She didn’t know. She couldn’t remember.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Josephine crossed her arms and continued to pace. Despite being in Clarke’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>very large </span>
  </em>
  <span>penthouse to change, she chose to pace back and forth across a tiny patch of the floor.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, but you’ll be bored out of your mind, won’t you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clarke bit her lip, debating on the best way to let her down. While she was fun, she wasn’t dependent on her to have a good time. She was </span>
  <em>
    <span>plenty </span>
  </em>
  <span>capable of having fun without her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I mean… I did travel here myself, didn’t I? I’m sure I can manage for a few hours without you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clarke was actually </span>
  <em>
    <span>excited </span>
  </em>
  <span>to have some time away from Josephine. It felt like she hardly had room to breathe ever since she arrived at the hotel. It was great, don’t get her wrong; being Josephine’s temporary friend meant access to the VIP parts of the hotel, and endless tabs at the bar, and many other perks. Still, she felt suffocated by her constant need for attention.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Your dad said it was important,” she reminded her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuck. What’s the chance that he’ll kill me if I hypothetically slept with Ryker?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clarke’s expression remained blank. “I don’t know. Did you sleep with Ryker?” Josephine lifted an eyebrow. “Right. ‘Duh.’ Of course you slept with him.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She got off the bed and crossed the room to the closet, which was filled with both clothing she did and did not recognize. When did she unpack? She never unpacked while staying at hotels—it was something her father taught her. He was always telling her to be ready to run, to be ready to flee.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She never unpacked that suitcase before.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Didn’t she?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her hand froze as she reached for her closest shirt and her gaze was drawn down to the old watch on her arm.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Why did this feel important to her?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“—which I don’t really care about and— </span>
  <em>
    <span>hey. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Are you even listening to me?” Josephine’s shrill voice cut through Clarke’s shock. “Hello. Earth to Clarke!?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m listening. Just… zoned out for a second.” She mentally shook herself and grabbed her shirt. The half-formed memories were easy to forget. “You go see your father, I’ll go play some games. I want to check out the dartboard on the third floor.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ew. I hate darts.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clarke moved to the dresser on the other end of the room and hoped Josephine missed her eye roll. “I know you do.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And the third floor bar doesn’t open for a few more hours, Clarke. See, you need me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clarke grabbed a pair of her favourite jeans—or, she assumed they were her favourites, from the way the fabric was worn and the colour faded—and turned back to her. “I’ll just walk around a bit then, no big deal. What’s the worst that’ll happen? I’ll get lost? I’ll run away?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Josephine snorted. “Right, like you’d make it out the front doors.” Something about that didn’t sit quite right with Clarke. She stared at her blankly. “It’s a joke, Clarke. Laugh a little. You know how to do that, right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re a bitch sometimes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tell me something I don’t know.” Josephine glanced at the clock on the dresser. “Shit. Okay. I gotta go. Don’t get too lost.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And then she was alone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clarke sat down on the edge of her bed, her eyes locked on the door. There was something nagging on her mind, but she couldn’t put her finger on it. It felt like she was teetering on the edge of an important thought.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was a torturous feeling.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then again, it was probably nothing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clarke glanced at the clock again. Josephine was right; there were a few hours until the third floor bar opened up. Considering Lotus Hotel and Casino had enough things to do to keep anyone entertained for years, she wasn’t too worried about that fact.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She changed clothes and before heading out for the night. Jo would find her somewhere in the hotel between now and when they left for Sanctum, so she doubted she’d get back to her hotel room until early tomorrow morning.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As she stepped into the elevator, she almost instantly regretted bringing her blazer. It was fucking suffocating in the small space. She hated to think what it would feel like in the crammed club with everyone moving. But, before she could consider pressing the button to head back to her floor, the elevator slowed to a stop and the doors opened.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She could’ve been hit in the face and it would’ve been less painful than the floral pattern spread on the shirt of the guy waiting for the elevator. Gods, what was with people and their obsession with—</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Oh.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Clarke’s thoughts slowed as her gaze raked across the </span>
  <em>
    <span>rest </span>
  </em>
  <span>of the guy. Broad shoulders, defined chest, </span>
  <em>
    <span>beautiful </span>
  </em>
  <span>arms, and—</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sunglasses.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was sunglasses guy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She stared at him for a long moment. Was it just earlier today that she saw him? Or was it yesterday? Did it really matter when he was this beautiful?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clarke realized she was staring and quickly averted her eyes and stepped to the side. Sunglasses guy stepped into the elevator beside her and punched the button to close the doors.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She studied him out of the corner of her eye.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yep, it was the same guy from outside the restaurant alright. She could, unfortunately, recognize that floral shirt anywhere, despite only seeing it for a few seconds before. Plus, the sunglasses being worn indoors were a dead giveaway. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His hair hung over his forehead, the curls bouncing with each of his movements. His face was just as attractive as the rest of him; strong jaw, parted lips, freckles dusted across his cheeks like the constellations in the sky.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She realized she was staring a </span>
  <em>
    <span>tad </span>
  </em>
  <span>too late. His sunglasses fell down the bridge of his nose, revealing brown eyes that were pretty enough to make her heart skip a beat and her stomach fill with butterflies.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He lifted an eyebrow.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She didn’t look away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Looking for something?” he asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yep. His voice was attractive. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Really attractive. </span>
  </em>
  <span>It was low and firm and made her stomach swoop. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nope.” Clarke turned to face the front of the elevator and hoped her expression didn’t give anything away. “Just trying to figure the sunglasses out.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They’re for the sun. We’re in Vegas, aren’t we?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Inside a hotel.” Clarke’s gaze darted back to his. “Not many people wear sunglasses in a dark building, that’s all.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I guess that explains why security was watching me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I mean, it could be considered suspicious.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His lips quirked up. “Good to know that I’m a suspicious character.” He pulled the glasses off his face and folded them into his breast pocket. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck, </span>
  </em>
  <span>he was even cuter without the sunglasses. “Better?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clarke forced her gaze forward. “My opinion doesn’t matter.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But does it look like I’m less likely to attempt to rob a casino with the glasses off? I trust your opinion on that much, Princess.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She turned back to him. Her gaze swept across his features, admiring the way he looked like he belonged in an art museum. He looked like the stereotypical guy she’d find in Vegas—except with more floral print.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You look </span>
  <em>
    <span>perfectly </span>
  </em>
  <span>normal now. Not suspicious at all.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The elevator came to a stop again, this time opening to the main lobby of the hotel. Instantly, any hope for a conversation was drowned out by the booming music and loud chatter coming from the casino.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, by the way.” She turned to face him as she stepped off the elevator. “The name isn’t Princess.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What should I call you then?” She grinned and turned forward. Her heart skipped a few beats at the game; there was something so thrilling about being chased. “What’s your name?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not princess! Have fun </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> robbing casinos.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She glanced back at him over her shoulder, her bottom lip between her teeth. They locked eyes and a warmth spread through her. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Those eyes</span>
  </em>
  <span> and </span>
  <em>
    <span>that voice.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>They went their separate ways. It wasn’t long until the warmth of his voice faded from her memory. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Still, hours later, she couldn’t shake the image of his eyes peering at her, so full of life and wonder and warmth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She doubted she could ever forget that.</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>She was getting sick of security watching her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her plan to kill time while she waited for the third floor to open up was tarnished by her annoyance. She could feel multiple sets of eyes on her, no matter where she went, and it was beginning to drive her up a wall.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was impressive. Clarke didn’t realize </span>
  <em>
    <span>just how much security </span>
  </em>
  <span>the Lotus Hotel had until this moment. With every passing second, it seemed like she discovered another (and another, and another) security guard around her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This had to be overkill. There was no way they needed two dozen security guards to watch the small side room she was in. What did they think could possibly happen to need all these </span>
  <em>
    <span>people?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Whatever the reason, Clarke didn’t really care. She was so done with being watched like a criminal.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clarke grabbed her key out of the machine she’d been playing on and stood, her gaze never leaving her hands. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched as the security around her reacted; some shifted towards her, others straightened, eyes of people she didn’t even realize were security snapped in her direction.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She darted to the bathroom, only half expecting to see another set of security guards in the stalls. When she was sure it was just her in the all-white room, she let out a breath.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>What the fuck?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>The amount of security had been suspicious before, but their reactions gave way to the fact they weren’t just watching the room she was in. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>They were watching her</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She studied her reflection in the mirror above the sink. She looked normal. Sure, tired, but that was her new normal recently. Clarke looked just as she did every day.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then why were people watching her?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Was Josephine this paranoid that she’d get lost? Clarke wouldn’t put it past Josie to order as many security guards that she could find to watch her while she was gone.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>But this seemed more than that.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Clarke turned the taps on and quickly splashed her face with water. The cold droplets of water were a stark contrast to the humidity inside the casino and it jolted her mind. A memory from her home seemed to be unearthed by the simple action.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Part of her wished it would’ve stayed buried.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>It was a memory from just after a funeral—her father’s funeral, maybe? Was her dad dead? The water helped stop her sobs back then, too, at whoever's funeral she was attending.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But then, just as quickly as the memory appeared, it faded. The door to the bathroom was pushed open and two giggling girls walked into. The music blasting over the speakers wafted into the room—it was so loud that she could barely hear herself think.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The door slid shut.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She blinked at her reflection.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>What had she been thinking about?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clarke tuned the taps off and dried her hands. In the reflection of the mirror, she spotted a clock. </span>
  <em>
    <span>8:47 PM. </span>
  </em>
  <span>The third floor bar was open.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Darts.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yes, darts sounded good.</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>Clarke ran her fingers over the dart a few times, her touch light and nimble. Her eyes never left the dartboard several feet away from her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then, at high speed, she flicked her wrist and threw the projectile. It sailed through the air before embedding itself into the board, right where she had aimed for.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She smirked at the result. For all that she hated archery, maybe she would be good at it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clarke paused. She hated archery?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was a long forgotten memory. As soon as she thought of it, a headache burst behind her eyes, making her grimace. The longer she tried to think and the more she tried to remember, the worse it got.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She couldn’t blame it on the music, as this part of the hotel was relatively quiet. This section of the third floor was reserved for generic bar activities; darts, pool, drinking.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maybe she could blame the headache on sleep deprivation still. She couldn’t remember the last time she had a full night of sleep.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She threw a few more darts before she noticed him.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Sunglasses guy.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Clarke caught sight of him out of the corner of her eye as she made her first throw of her second round. Rather, she caught sight of his </span>
  <em>
    <span>shirt </span>
  </em>
  <span>out of the corner of her eye. He was sitting at the bar with a glass resting between his folded hands. It was evident that he had been watching her, just from the way his body was angled and from the way he was suddenly </span>
  <em>
    <span>so extremely </span>
  </em>
  <span>interested in the rim of his glass.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She smirked to herself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was watching her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The thought made a bolt of electricity run through her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clarke picked up her third dart and repeated the process. She twirled it in her fingers, lifted her arm, cocked her chin, and—</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her eyes snapped to his.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You plan on watching me all night?” she asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His expression was good when he realized he’d been caught—his lips parted and his eyes widened. A genuine smile spread across her lips. Without another word, and without turning back to the dartboard, she flicked her wrist. The dart sailed through the air and embedded itself right next to the previous two throws.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She lifted her eyebrows quickly—a challenge.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sunglasses guy left his seat at the bar. His hands buried into his pockets. “You’re good.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah,” she breathed, “he speaks.” She lifted a dart between her two fingers and offered it in his direction. “Does he play?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“‘He’ plays.” Sunglasses guy took the offered dart from her, their skin making the briefest contact. His hands were warm, she noted. “‘He’ also has a name.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, do you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I do.” His smile made her heart race. Along with their light banter, she could feel herself spiralling already. “I’m Bellamy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, Bellamy, I’m Clarke.” She gestured to the board on the opposite wall. “You think you can do better?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My dad was really into games that require good aim, so.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah. So did my mom.” She picked up another dart and twirled it between her fingers. In a swift movement, she threw the dart. Unsurprisingly, it landed next to the other darts. “Some might say I’m a prodigy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was a charged beat that passed where Bellamy simply </span>
  <em>
    <span>stared </span>
  </em>
  <span>at her and she stared at him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was different up close; warm eyes that seemed to dance with his banter, full lips that pulled into a heart stopping smile, flushed cheeks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yeah. She was </span>
  <em>
    <span>so </span>
  </em>
  <span>spiralling right now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(And it was definitely not a bad thing.)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, Princess, you going to show me how to do this?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not with that attitude,” she teased. “I thought we already discussed this. The name isn’t Princess.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t like nicknames?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The only princesses I know are ones that get sacrificed by their fathers, wage wars, or sit around waiting for their prince. Let’s just say that I’m not fond of the nickname.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Adrenaline made her body buzz as he studied her. Her own gaze moved along his body too, appreciating the way his floral shirt hung open to expose a tighter grey t-shirt, and the way his muscles moved under the fabric, and the way she </span>
  <em>
    <span>really </span>
  </em>
  <span>wanted to feel </span>
  <em>
    <span>just how warm he was.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>She forced her eyes to his, her throat suddenly dry.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Very dry.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think you’re more of a Rapunzel than a Snow White,” he mused.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She laughed. “I have no clue what you mean, but I’ll take it as a compliment.” She gestured to the board. “Throw.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Without a moment of hesitation, he threw the dart. They both watched as it completely missed the board. She had to hide her smile by turning her head to the side.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shit,” he said. “How many goes do I get?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Whoever has a higher score after five throws wins.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He took the dart she offered. “That means I have to get the next four in a row </span>
  <em>
    <span>perfect </span>
  </em>
  <span>and hope you somehow fuck up your last turn to have a shot at winning this thing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tough shit.” She liked the way his smirk made his eyes dance. She liked the way his smirk made her legs turn weak even more. “What are we playing for?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Playing for?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” she prompted, “you said you want to win. What are you trying to win?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He cleared his throat and turned back to the dartboard. “Don’t know. What are you suggesting?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She could think of </span>
  <em>
    <span>many </span>
  </em>
  <span>things to suggest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her eyes dipped towards his lips for the briefest moment. Clarke knew he caught the movement; the corner of his lip quirked up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She met his eyes again and went for the mild option.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Winner gets to pick which activity we do next.” She lifted an eyebrow and tried to keep her thoughts in check. “Deal?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His eyes snapped to hers. “And the loser?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can say no, of course. But </span>
  <em>
    <span>I </span>
  </em>
  <span>wouldn’t be saying no to anything you suggest.” The intensity behind his gaze stole her breath. She gestured at the boards again. “Get throwing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He lined up his shot. It looked good—much better than the first throw—simply based on the way his body was poised. But, at the last minute, he shifted and—</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His shot missed the board.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bellamy glanced at her. “Can that first one count as practice please?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Only because you asked so nice.” She gestured for him to go again, her gaze sweeping across his body more calculating and less appreciative than before. “Try again.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clarke watched carefully this time. She studied the way his posture changed; his shoulders drew back, this arm remained relaxed, his hips turned perpendicular to the board. Even the way his gaze swept across the board was </span>
  <em>
    <span>perfect. </span>
  </em>
  <span>His positioning was one of someone classically trained.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then, at the last second, his gaze shifted lower. He threw the dart. Predictably, it hit where he aimed — </span>
  <em>
    <span>just below the board.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Clarke’s surprise was cut short by his pout directed at her. “Is this as painful for you as it is for me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She stared at him for a beat longer before she let out a breathless laugh. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>No </span>
  <em>
    <span>way </span>
  </em>
  <span>was he doing this.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You probably think you’re smart, huh?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She had to admit, his poker face was good. He looked completely innocent.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mhmm.” She stepped closer to him, another dart resting in the palm of her hands. “I think you know </span>
  <em>
    <span>exactly </span>
  </em>
  <span>what I’m talking about, just like you know </span>
  <em>
    <span>exactly </span>
  </em>
  <span>what you’re doing here. I’m smarter than I look.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Trust me,” he breathed, “you look smart enough on your own.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She ignored the way the praise made her heart soar.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clarke’s expression remained cool. “Bellamy, you can do better than this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Unfortunately, my flirting skills peak at this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A quick thrill went through her and the corners of her mouth quirked upwards at that. She smoothed her expression after only a second. “I’m not talking about your </span>
  <em>
    <span>flirting skills. </span>
  </em>
  <span>You’re doing just fine there.” She reached forward and pressed the shaft of the dart into his slack fingers. “I’m talking about your </span>
  <em>
    <span>dart skills.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“What skill? You’re winning by a long shot, Princess.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She cocked an eyebrow. “You’re throwing the game.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Isn’t that the point? Throw a dart, win a prize?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re </span>
  <em>
    <span>fixing </span>
  </em>
  <span>it,” she corrected. She was desperately clutching onto the last strands of coolness. The intensity in his gaze and the roughness of his voice was </span>
  <em>
    <span>very </span>
  </em>
  <span>distracting. “Come on, we both know that you know what I mean. You’re trying to lose.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bellamy quickly looked away from her. “And if I am?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If you are, we’re starting over.” She took a few steps towards the dartboard, her finger pointed in her direction and a glint in her eye. “No trying to cheat this time, Bellamy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I wasn’t,” he insisted. She could tell he was lying. He wasn’t a very good actor. “I’m an extremely fair player.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know what I think?” she asked as she started to pull the darts from the board, “I think you’re trying to blow at this, just so I can show you a few moves. Am I right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re not wrong.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She smiled to herself as she pulled the final dart from the board. Her fingers were shaking with adrenaline. Courage ran through her veins, spurring her on. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll play along,” she agreed as she dropped the darts onto the bench along the wall. “I like games.” Clarke’s arm brushed against his when she moved to stand beside him and his fingers lingered on hers as she deposited a dart in his grasp. “Show me what you were doing,” she instructed, “and I’ll help you out.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was a game—one that made her heart skip a beat and made her feel the slightest bit breathless. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bellamy angled his body to throw a dart again, this time lacking all the form that he had only minutes before. His elbow drooped and his back was too rigid and eyes were locked firmly on hers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good?” he prompted.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She stepped up beside him, close enough to feel his breath wash over her face. Her body buzzed as she inched her hand forward, her movements slow and careful, just in case he decided he didn’t want to play this game anymore. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>He didn’t move.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Eventually, her hand connected with his elbow. The moment was by no means intimate—it was a simple guiding hand on his arm in the middle of a casino—but it still made her breath catch in her throat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before her shock became evident, she adjusted his elbow and moved to angle his shoulders. Bellamy remained still as she worked, his eyes following her every movement.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I see the way you’re throwing,” Clarke pointed out, her eyes lifting to meet his as she adjusted his shoulders. “You are aiming for the wrong spots.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You </span>
  <em>
    <span>do </span>
  </em>
  <span>have skills,” she argued. “You hit your mark every time.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t think so.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re lucky that you’re cute. You’re a shit actor.” Her hand slid down his arm and came to settle on the back of his hand. With their hands together, she guided their hands to the correct position. Now with his body in the correct form—just as it had been before—she stepped backwards. “No cheating this time.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bellamy’s eyes snapped towards the dart board, a look of concentration sweeping his features. “Highest score after five?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They took turns throwing. Clarke watched with a mixture of disbelief and amazement as each of Bellamy’s darts landed in the bullseye. His aim was </span>
  <em>
    <span>perfect, </span>
  </em>
  <span>almost inhumanly perfect.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Inhuman.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>The word reverberated around her skull long after she thought it. Even as she stepped up to throw her dart, her thoughts swirled around that simple word.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Human.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Why did that feel important?</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Was she a human? </span>
  </em>
  <span>Or was there something more to her?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Flashes of parents, and thick books covered in dust, and metal growing slick against her hands, and </span>
  <em>
    <span>divinity</span>
  </em>
  <span> came to mind.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Just as it felt like her thoughts were clicking into place, Bellamy let out a loud cheer and jostled her shoulder playfully. She blinked the world back into focus and—</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her dart had hit the double ring—one of the lowest scoring positions.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her thoughts of what could possibly be her past life were easily dismissed as she slid back into the easy banter with Bellamy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I win! I got five out of five in the bullseye.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wasn’t wrong. Watching him play had been fantastic—he was meticulous, and precise, and accurate. Every shot he took hit his mark. </span>
  <em>
    <span>And his eyes. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Gods, help her, but she was falling in love with the way his eyes darkened with intensity, and the way the muscles in his jaw rippled as he concentrated, and the way his lips looked </span>
  <em>
    <span>extremely fucking kissable.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>She cleared her throat and turned back to the dartboard.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah,” she said, a slow smile growing on her lips, “but you see, I still win.” She gestured to the poster on the wall, showcasing the regions of the dartboard and the points that corresponded to each square. “You got five in the bullseye which might be impressive—” </span>
  <em>
    <span>(It was. It so very was.) </span>
  </em>
  <span>“—but I got four of mine in the Triple 20. Even with my shitty last throw, I still win.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bellamy studied the poster on the wall for a long minute, totalling up their scores. When he came to the same conclusion she did, he let out a small breath. “I have something to admit.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hm?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I never played darts before.” He pointed at the poster. “This probably would’ve been helpful before we started, Princess.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maybe you shouldn’t have called me Princess and I would’ve helped you out.” She grinned. “Admit it, Bellamy. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I win.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Only because you cheated.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She laughed. “Let’s get the facts straight here; out of the two of us, </span>
  <em>
    <span>you’re </span>
  </em>
  <span>the cheater.” She liked the way his smirk lit up his eyes. She tried to ignore the way he made her heart race and her skin tingle and her breath catch. “I win.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright. I know when to admit defeat. </span>
  <em>
    <span>You win. </span>
  </em>
  <span>What’s your verdict? What are we up to for the rest of the night?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clarke glanced at her wrist out of habit before she remembered her watch was out of batteries. She quickly turned her gaze to sweep around the room in search of a clock, but— </span>
</p><p>
  <span>None.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>No clocks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She frowned. Strange.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If it’s after ten, we can go to Sanctum,” Clarke decided. “That is, if you’re up for it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sanctum? Never heard of it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It took a second for Clarke to realize not everyone staying at the Lotus Hotel could access Sanctum. Josephine liked to remind her just how elite the club actually was.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Josephine. </span>
  </em>
  <span>She almost forgot about her. It’d been hours since she last saw her friend. Clarke wondered just how much heat she’d have to take if she ditched Josephine for Bellamy for the night.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She already knew that answer. She just didn’t care. A night dancing with Bellamy sounded like it would be worth the snappish attitude of Josephine in the morning.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s a nightclub, invite only. Consider this your invite. You down?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bellamy paused for a moment and Clarke was almost sure he was going to say no. Then, a slow smile spread across his lips—a smile softer than the playful smirks before. It made her smile in return.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m in. Let’s go.”</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thank you for reading  :)</p><p>Come find me on <a href="https://pawprinterfanfic.tumblr.com/"> Tumblr!</a></p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Bellamy and the Accidental TKO</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The information Dionysus gave him wasn’t exactly </span>
  <em>
    <span>informative.</span>
  </em>
  <span> He had no idea what he was walking into and no idea what horrors were waiting for him at the Lotus Hotel and Casino.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The building was a beacon, according to Dionysus; it drew half-mortals in, tricked them into staying, and distorted reality. It was dangerous. </span>
  <em>
    <span>‘You go there, you don’t come back out.’</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>That sounded fantastic.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He described it as a black hole. Bellamy wondered if he chose that analogy just for him, considering how many months he spent studying astronomy at camp. Did he remember that about him? Did he remember that he used to sit on the beach, damp sand under his skin, and dream about living in the stars?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Doubtful. He didn’t even remember his name.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bellamy wasn’t sure what he expected to find in Vegas. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>What Bellamy </span>
  <em>
    <span>didn’t </span>
  </em>
  <span>expect was the beautiful hotel he pulled up to only a few hours earlier. A lotus-flower, with pink petals and a winding green stem, flashed above the wide-open door. In neon letters, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Lotus Hotel &amp; Casino </span>
  </em>
  <span>was scrawled across the front of the building.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>While it wasn’t the tallest hotel on the strip, it </span>
  <em>
    <span>felt </span>
  </em>
  <span>larger than life. Bellamy instantly understood what Dionysus meant when he said black hole; it felt as though his centre of gravity wasn’t tied to the earth anymore—it was tied to the hotel, pulling him in.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bellamy was determined from the moment he set his eyes on it.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>He wasn’t going to become one of the half-mortals that got sucked in and didn’t come out. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He had a mission, and he was going to complete it. He was here to pick up a package—</span>
  <em>
    <span>person—</span>
  </em>
  <span>and get them home so the gods could help teach her about her powers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When he went into the hotel, he left everything in his car; his go bag, his bow and arrows and other weapons, his cell. He wasn’t here to stay or play around—he was here to get her and </span>
  <em>
    <span>go.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>That all went to shit as soon as he stepped out of his car.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>The hotel was enticing. As soon as his shoes were on the street, he felt </span>
  <em>
    <span>pulled </span>
  </em>
  <span>towards the building, as if every cell in his body </span>
  <em>
    <span>needed </span>
  </em>
  <span>to go there. He wondered if other demigods and half-mortals felt this way when they approached the Lotus Hotel, or if he was more attune because he could see the monster behind the mask, thanks to a blessing from Dionysus.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Maybe working for the god of madness had its perks. </span>
  </em>
  <span>He could sense the magic trying to alter his perception already—he could feel it slowly pulling at his mind—yet it didn’t sway him.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>At least, not right away.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>As soon as he crossed the threshold, it felt as though he was in a completely different world. The sensation that ran up his spine was comparable to the one he felt when he crossed the barrier that protected Camp Half-Blood. It was as though everything inside of him had shifted the slightest bit.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He allowed himself to drink in the details of the hotel. The high ceilings. The flashing lights. The loud sounds. It was like every pamphlet promoting Las Vegas had been mashed into a single place; it was luxurious, yet fun; high-class, yet </span>
  <em>
    <span>not. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>His head hurt after only a minute. It was like he was looking at different images; one eye saw one thing, while the other saw something completely different; and his mind was trying to make sense of it all. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was a mess.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>The headache never left.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>There was a piece of him that was </span>
  <em>
    <span>drawn </span>
  </em>
  <span>to the hotel, urging him to stay, urging him to succumb to the peace and bliss that the hotel would grant him. There were promises that life would be as easy as breathing if </span>
  <em>
    <span>he just let go—</span>
  </em>
  <span>no more pain, no more regrets, no more struggles and scars, no more memories.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The other part of him fought against this, urging him to stay on course, urging him to ignore the pull of gravity on his bones.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It felt like his mind was splitting into two and he knew it was because of the blessing from Dionysus. The god had called it a gift to aid him on his mission; the Gift of Clear Thought. It was the only thing keeping him from falling into the deep end of this hotel—it was the only thing keeping him from drowning.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Even with the gift, he could feel his mind growing foggier with the more time that passed. Every minute he spent in the hotel, the more he forgot.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>He forgot, and forgot, and forgot—</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Until he couldn’t remember exactly what he forgot. He could simply feel the gaps in his memory and the missing holes in his soul and—</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He just knew her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clarke Griffin.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>He just knew her.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Maybe Dionysus’ gift was bullshit. Maybe the god didn’t care about the other memories Bellamy had—didn’t care about every piece of him that was slowly getting lost. Dionysus only cared that Bellamy remembered his mission, and only cared that he succeeded.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was aware of the memories slipping away from him, like water swirling down a drain. He was aware that the more time he spent in the hotel, the more he forgot, and the more he wanted to stay there forever.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was aware, and that somehow made it worse.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bellamy could feel the ache in his soul and </span>
  <em>
    <span>every instinct in his body told him </span>
  </em>
  <span>that he’d be happy if he stayed here forever. He was aware it was the magic of the hotel, but it didn’t stop his soul from aching.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bellamy knew he lived a life fuller than what his memories were telling him—he knew he had a life before the hotel, but he couldn’t remember the details. All he could remember was the wash of cool as he stepped through the front doors of the Lotus Hotel, and the flashing lights, and the pounding music and—</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I am the blood of the gods.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I am on a mission from Dionysus.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Those thoughts seemed so far away, but they were the only clear ones. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mission. </span>
  <em>
    <span>He was on a mission.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Clarke Griffin. Legacy of Olympus. Granddaughter of Dionysus. Commander of Death.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That’s who he was here for.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was slipping further and further, as if he was stuck in quicksand or a tide dragging him out to sea.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was the hotel. While he couldn’t remember exactly what Dionysus told him earlier, he could remember the fear and the hesitation he had about this mission.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Black hole. </span>
  </em>
  <span>This place was a black hole.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bellamy finally understood what that meant.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It felt like he was falling so fast that he couldn’t get his legs out under him, or like he was trapped so far underwater that he couldn’t tell which way was up or down. His thoughts were hazy. His memories felt distant. </span>
  <em>
    <span>He </span>
  </em>
  <span>felt distant; like he wasn’t truly himself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was hours after he arrived at the hotel that he realized it didn’t matter.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Only she did.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>The first time he saw her, she was half-asleep in a dining booth at a restaurant.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bellamy wasn’t too sure what drew him to her; after all, he didn’t know what she looked like outside of the verbal description given by Dionysus. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Clarke Griffin. Blonde. Blue eyes. Twenty-one. Wore a watch engraved with stars.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He stood outside of the glass doors of the restaurant, watching her for a long stretch of time. He wasn’t close enough to see the colour of her eyes or to notice if her watch was engraved with stars, but there was something about her—something that pulled him to her. The piece of his mind that was kept clear by Dionysus’ gift seemed to </span>
  <em>
    <span>scream </span>
  </em>
  <span>at him.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>That was her.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Almost as if she could feel his eyes on her, her gaze was drawn to his. They stared at each other for a charged beat, just long enough for Bellamy to study the slopes of her face, and then he was turning around.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wasn’t too sure how to approach the mission. He couldn’t very well go up to her and tell her that she was being imprisoned by Ancient Greek monsters. He didn’t know if she even knew her father was a demigod and her grandfather was a god, or if she knew about the world of Greek mythology, or if she even remembered her own name.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>He had to earn her trust first.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>The second time he saw her was in an elevator. He wasn’t too sure how much time had passed since he arrived at the hotel—had it been days? Weeks? Hours? Time blurred together. Logic felt far away. Thoughts were cloudy.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Except for thoughts of her.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>She </span>
  </em>
  <span>was beautiful. Now that he wasn’t staring at her through glass windows, he could see her for who she truly was.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She wore a simple white shirt with a baggy black blazer over top and rolled up denim jeans, reminding him of something Sarah Jessica Parker or Julia Roberts would’ve worn during the beginning of their careers. He knew that time period well; it was all his mother would watch when he was younger.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(His mother.)</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>(Did he have a mother?)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(The fact that he didn’t know—that he couldn’t remember—made his blood run cold.)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her voice was beautiful, too. Bellamy knew it wasn’t just the hotel that was making him get lost in this moment; it was hard to remember that this was a mission and that they were in danger.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>It was so easy to forget.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>It was even easier to forget when her hands brushed against his arm, and when her breath ghosted along his neck, and when their eyes locked and a charged beat passed between them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was easy to get lost in the moment.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Even now, with his hand in hers and her face inches from his, it was easy to forget.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sanctum was filled with too many people to count. Hundreds of people could be seen from their spot on the dance floor, all distorted by the darkness and the flashing lights. It was hard to distinguish anything from the crowds; limbs bled together, facial features were distorted, hair colour was washed away with the lights.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This is literally my nightmare,” he admitted to her as soon as they stepped into the club. “I don’t dance.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His eyes scanned the crowd, examining what people were wearing. He realized with a start that it was a costume party. Everyone wore a mixture of clothing; some looked like they should’ve been on rollerblades with their bell-bottom jeans and shining leather; others wore the hellish low-rise jeans of the nineties; some looked like they’d stepped right out of black and white photographs from the turn of the nineteen hundreds.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I feel very underdressed,” he added, glancing down at his own attire. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He thought the floral shirt and sunglasses had been appropriate, considering they were in Vegas, but now he felt </span>
  <em>
    <span>extremely </span>
  </em>
  <span>out of the loop. Even Clarke matched the theme of the past, with her rolled up jeans and her bright lipstick.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You look good,” she assured, taking him by the hand and dragging him to the dance floor. “There’s no dress code! I wondered the same thing when Josephine first brought me, but it’s fine. You look great!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bellamy couldn’t remember who Josephine was. Did he know her? He didn’t remember.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Josephine?” he prompted.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My friend.” Clarke seemed to perk up at this and stretched her neck to glance around the club. Bellamy watched as the purple lights reflected off her eyes. “Weird. She’s usually here every night, but I don’t see her!” Her nose wrinkled. “What’s the chance that she’s off with Ryker again?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ryker?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’s her dad’s assistant or intern or something, I don’t know. He totally busted her earlier for sleeping with him.” A distant expression came over her features. Her swaying to the beat slowed. “I was supposed to meet her. Before I got to the club. She was… She had a meeting? I think?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bellamy slowed in response to her clear confusion. “We can go find her? Or, I mean, you can go alone if you want, but—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She shook her head, but it felt like she was more so dismissing her thought than him. “No. No, it’s fine.” Their eyes locked. “I’m a big girl. I can handle myself for the night without her.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bellamy could’ve drowned in the blues of her irises and he’d be okay with that. They were beautiful. </span>
  <em>
    <span>She </span>
  </em>
  <span>was beautiful; heart-stoppingly so.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Their conversation lulled and, before long, Bellamy wasn’t too sure who they were talking about anyway.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clarke grabbed his hand and guided his arm around her shoulders, pulling their bodies closer by several inches. He could feel the base of the music vibrating his chest, it was so loud. They had been dancing for—how long? He wasn’t sure. It could’ve been ages or seconds—it didn’t matter.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>It was fun.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>They moved together to the music. It was as though they’d done this before; they remained in sync as they moved without ever speaking a word. They were like magnets; she moved forward, he’d move back; his hand would brush against her waist, her fingers would thread into his hair; she’d reach for him and he’d reach back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bellamy’s heart was pounding. The air was thick with tension and charged with electricity. Each touch felt like it would stop his heart altogether. Her gaze was intense and sharp on his, their eye contact rarely breaking as they danced.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He could feel something weighing heavily on his mind. A thought was </span>
  <em>
    <span>barely there—</span>
  </em>
  <span>merely a shadow of what it should’ve been—and it made a wave of uncomfortableness wash up his spine.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>He ignored it.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>She was warm. The skin that brushed against hers felt like it was set alight. His hands settled on her waist, bringing them closer as they moved to the music together. Her smirk alone made her heart almost completely stop.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bellamy couldn’t remember another time of his life where he felt this light and this free. He was strikingly aware of his missing memories, but, with Clarke pressed against him, he couldn’t find it in himself to care.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Why didn’t he feel this free before? </span>
  </em>
  <span>What had been stopping him?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t recognize this song!” Bellamy pointed out, his voice barely audible over the blasting music. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clarke had to lean in closer. “What!?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He closed the small gap between them, bringing his mouth to the shell of her ear. He could feel her breath leave her lungs all at once as he spoke.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The song,” he said again, “I don’t recognize it!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He caught the tail end of her shocked expression when he pulled back. Her forehead creased in thought. “Neither do I!” Her hands locked around his neck, stopping him from going far. She grinned up at him. “Must be new!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bellamy’s eyebrows furrowed at that. This song was anything </span>
  <em>
    <span>but </span>
  </em>
  <span>new. It had classic vibes—the opera-like vocals, and the beat that was easy to move to, and the feel of electricity in the air.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He laughed. “More like something old!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She didn’t hear him. She spun in his grasp, turning her back flush against his chest, and tilted her head to hit his shoulder.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>The air was sucked from his lungs as she danced against him, her hips moving to the beat of the music, and her hands running down the front of her body, and her face turned to the sky with a sultry smile that made Bellamy feel like he was seconds away from dying.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Dying. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Was he dead? The feeling of </span>
  <em>
    <span>not being himself </span>
  </em>
  <span>hit him so abruptly and left too quickly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Something was wrong.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wasn’t it?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His thoughts were drowned out by the blasting music and the feeling of Clarke moving against him. It was </span>
  <em>
    <span>so easy </span>
  </em>
  <span>to forget, and </span>
  <em>
    <span>so impossible </span>
  </em>
  <span>to remember.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Remember. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Was there something to remember?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When her hand threaded into the hair at the back of his neck and her lips brushed against his ear, he couldn’t breathe.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why don’t we get out of her?” she asked, her voice low and raspy. His hands flexed on her hips out of instinct, pulling her flush against him. He could hear the smile in her voice. “Remember. Loser can say no.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bellamy let out a choked laugh at that. The memory of their darts game felt so far away. Was that really only a few hours ago?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t think there’s a universe where I’d say no to that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He grew still as soon as her lips pressed against his neck. She smiled into his skin before pulling back. “Then we’re on the same page.” He instantly missed her warmth against his chest as soon as she pulled away. “Let’s go.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was when they left the club that it hit him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maybe it was because his thoughts had been so derailed—maybe he’d fallen so far—and the abrupt change in air temperature jerked him away from the abyss. Maybe it was because he realized </span>
  <em>
    <span>just how serious things were getting—</span>
  </em>
  <span>with Clarke’s lips on his skin, and promises of spending the night together, and hot touches. Or, maybe it was simply because the now distant music was quiet enough that he could finally hear his own thoughts.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>It didn’t matter.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He stumbled over hotel carpet as clear thoughts came rushing back to him. A headache instantly bloomed behind his eyes, just as it did when he first got to the Lotus Hotel. It felt like his mind was being split in two.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>But he remembered.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He remembered the Iris Message, and Dionysus’ grovelling, and his concern for the girl the gods abandoned, and his determination to </span>
  <em>
    <span>help. </span>
  </em>
  <span>He remembered the way his go bag felt against his fingers—dusty and stiff—and he remembered where he parked his car, his bow still in the back seat, and—</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She reached for him, her hand brushing against his lightly. Bellamy jolted from his thoughts and looked down at her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clarke Griffin. Legacy of Olympus. Granddaughter of Dionysus. Commander of Death.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fuck.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He’d just agreed to spend the night with the woman he was supposed to be saving.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Saving.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>He was supposed to be saving her.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>She was in danger because she could control death. She was stuck in a hotel—a black hole—in Vegas and—</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>He was also stuck in that same black hole.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>The realization stole the air from Bellamy’s lungs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>How long had he been here?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He couldn’t remember.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>An even more terrifying thought struck him. He glanced back down to Clarke, the humour and amusement drained from his body. She was oblivious to the sudden shift in him—still holding her hands and bouncing on her feet as they waited for the elevator.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Clarke,” he said suddenly, shattering the silence they’d fallen into. Their eyes locked. He swallowed thickly. “Clarke, how long have you been here?”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>The outdated music, the outdated clothing, the sometimes odd language, the—</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Two weeks. I’m supposed to head back home in a few days.” She lifted an eyebrow. “Why? Want me to stay longer?” The grin that lifted her lips was not matched by him. He was too far gone for this—he’d spiralled too far.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Clarke,” he said again, his voice firm. She still didn’t seem phased. “I need you to focus, okay? Can you do that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She laughed and took a step closer to him. His heart lodged itself into his throat and he fought the urge to step backwards. </span>
  <em>
    <span>This wasn’t right. This wasn’t what was supposed to happen. This wasn’t—</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Need I remind you that </span>
  <em>
    <span>you </span>
  </em>
  <span>lost earlier because of your lack of focus. Or, I guess, your lack of observational skills.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bellamy didn’t want to talk about darts. He didn’t want to talk about </span>
  <em>
    <span>anything </span>
  </em>
  <span>that happened in the hotel—no matter how </span>
  <em>
    <span>fucking fantastic </span>
  </em>
  <span>it had been. He couldn’t, not when it felt like dread had wrapped around his chest.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Clarke—”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He was cut off by the shrill ding of the elevator. The doors pulled open, revealing an empty carriage. Deciding that it was for the best to have this conversation somewhere where people wouldn’t overhear them anyways, he hurried her into the elevator.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She was still oblivious to the panic he felt. Bellamy watched as she pressed the button for the top floor without a care in the world. Her movements were slow and her shoulders relaxed and—</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Couldn’t she see something was wrong?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Although, Bellamy recalled only moments ago, when he was just like her—drowning and foggy. Somehow, he’d been sucked right into the trap set for half-mortals, even with Dionysus’ gift to keep his mind clear and—</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They needed to go. He needed to wake Clarke </span>
  <em>
    <span>now.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Bellamy dropped Clarke’s hand and reached forward to press the red button along the control panel, bringing the elevator to a stop. He glanced around the carriage quickly, taking note of the several cameras pointed at them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before he could make a move to disable them, Clarke was pressing against him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The feeling of her body against his was familiar. She was warm and soft as she leaned into his chest, her fingers raking through his hair, and her lips planted firmly on his.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For a brief moment, he was tempted to fuck it all and </span>
  <em>
    <span>kiss her back </span>
  </em>
  <span>because—</span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck, he really wanted to kiss her—</span>
  </em>
  <span>but the looming sense of danger and the fear that was rising in him was enough to bury those thoughts.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He inched his head back from hers, breaking the kiss without breaking the embrace. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Clarke,” he breathed, his voice already wrecked. She was staring at him, her eyes dark and her lips parted. It took everything in him to keep his eyes firmly locked on hers and to stop himself from closing the distance between them. “Clarke, listen to me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m listening.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was momentarily distracted by her lips, and by the way her shallow breaths ghosted along his skin, and the way he could feel her heart pounding against her chest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bellamy was refocused when he caught sight of her watch, the one engraved with stars.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Their eyes locked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I need you to think really hard on something, okay? Can you do that for me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You called me </span>
  <em>
    <span>smart </span>
  </em>
  <span>earlier, Bellamy. Where’s that confidence now? Don’t think I can handle it?” She grinned widely at him and his chest tightened. He almost hated himself for the question he was going to ask—if his hunch was right, then she wouldn’t be smiling this widely afterwards.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What year is it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She inched back from him the slightest bit. The smile instantly wiped from her face. Her gaze grew distant. “I— What? What do you mean?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bellamy watched her closely. Her forehead creased. She blinked rapidly a few times.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He took this as a good sign.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What year is it?” he pressed, his words coming out slower than before. “Really think, okay? What year?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She looked at him in confusion. “Uhm. Why?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just answer.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Clarke. Answer.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She dropped her arms from around his neck and took a few steps away from him. The moment between them was long past shattered. She shook her head, making her hair bounce around her face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He tried again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Clarke. The year. What is it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Their eyes locked again. His palms were slick with sweat. His heart was thudding rapidly in his chest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Finally, she responded.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“1987. Right? Or is it 1986? I— wait. No. 1987. It’s 1987.” She stared at Bellamy for a long moment, studying the way his expression completely fell. “Why?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It felt as though Bellamy’s world had been tipped on its side. Suddenly, everything began to make sense. He thought back to all those people at the club, in what he thought was period costumes.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>He was wrong.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>They were </span>
  <em>
    <span>real people </span>
  </em>
  <span>wearing the clothing of the decade they </span>
  <em>
    <span>belonged to. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>And, suddenly, Dionysus’ words came back to him. </span>
  <em>
    <span>‘Lotus Hotel is a beacon; the building draws you in and you want to stay. And, you know black holes; time runs differently in them.’</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Time ran differently inside the hotel.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His stomach rolled. Dread swept through him.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Clarke placed a hand on his forearm, jarring him from his thoughts. “Bellamy? What is it? What’s—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His eyes locked onto hers. He couldn’t explain it, but his chest grew tight with emotion and his breath stuttered.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Things just got a lot more complicated.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Clarke,” he said slowly. Bellamy attempted to keep his voice even and calm, which was a nearly impossible task due to the emotion rushing through him. He was terrified, and angry, and— “Wake up.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her lip curled in annoyance. “Rude, much? I </span>
  <em>
    <span>am </span>
  </em>
  <span>awake, dipshit. Gods—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I mean it.” He stepped closer to her. “Look at me. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Look. </span>
  </em>
  <span>I need you to focus.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clarke scoffed. “What’s your damage? I </span>
  <em>
    <span>am </span>
  </em>
  <span>up! Can you tell me why you were asking about </span>
  <em>
    <span>years </span>
  </em>
  <span>though? Like, seriously, that’s weird.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bellamy was growing more agitated. “Clarke, I’m going to say something that’ll sound insane, but I’m going to need you to trust me. I’m your best bet, alright? Trust me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re being weird, Bellamy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was so far past caring.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They needed to go.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>She needed to wake up.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“It isn’t 1987, Clarke. </span>
  <em>
    <span>It’s 2019. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Alright? You get that? 2019.” The annoyance was slowly melting from her expression, but her eyes weren’t shifting with understanding. “You’ve been in here for over thirty years.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She stumbled back from him a few steps, her eyes widening. “That— That’s impossible.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s possible.” He quickly changed tactics. “You said ‘gods’ earlier. You remember? You—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course I remember!” she snapped, heatedly. She narrowed her eyes at him. It was a stark difference from the soft touches and heated glances they were sharing only minutes ago.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What were you referring to then?” he pressed. “You said ‘gods.’ What did you mean?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know,” she bit, “it’s just a saying.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bellamy blew out a steadying breath and tried again. “We both know it isn’t a saying. I have a feeling you know more than what you’re saying—hell, maybe you don’t even know what you truly know. </span>
  <em>
    <span>But listen to me. </span>
  </em>
  <span>The Greek gods are real and we live among them. Did you know that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He watched as her expression went blank. Her eyes grew glassy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He kept pressing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re the granddaughter of one of them. You’re the granddaughter of Dionysus. Your father, he was the </span>
  <em>
    <span>son </span>
  </em>
  <span>of Dionysus. He’s a demigod.” Bellamy racked his brain for the minimal information Dionysus passed onto him. “Jake. His name is Jake, right? You remember him?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clarke was growing pale. Her hands were shaking at her sides. “Dad?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, your dad.” He didn’t chase her as she stumbled backwards. He could see she needed air to breathe, space to think, and a wall to clutch to keep upright. “Greek mythology is real—all the stories and the legends and heroes and </span>
  <em>
    <span>monsters.” </span>
  </em>
  <span>The more he talked, the more pieces of the puzzle he put together himself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This hotel is a trap,” Bellamy explained. “Your grandfather told me that it’s a beacon for the descendants of the gods. It draws us in and keeps us there forever. I should’ve realized before—it’s the home of the lotus-eaters.” It all made sense now. The name of the hotel matched the myth perfectly. “In ancient times, the lotus-eaters would capture innocent people and keep them prisoner with the use of a lotus flower with apathetic properties.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t—” Clarke shook her head. “I don’t understand. What’s happening? What—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’ve been trapped here for thirty years.” He could sense he was almost there—he could tell that she was </span>
  <em>
    <span>so close </span>
  </em>
  <span>to getting it. He gave one final push. “It’s time to wake up, Clarke. It’s time we go back home.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her eyes snapped to his. “Home?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Home.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She blinked slowly, her eyes going unfocused. “I… I need to go back home.” A beat of silence passed before she spoke again. “I— </span>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck. </span>
  </em>
  <span>I need to go home.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bellamy stared at her for a long minute, unsure of if he’d actually done it—if he’d managed to actually wake her up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He decided that she was most definitely awake when her eyes met his, her eyes wide with panic and pupils blown. Her hands shook as she lifted them to the sides of her head, her fingers pressing to her temples. She looked terrified.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh my gods,” she breathed, her voice shaking with horror. She clutched the railing behind her to keep herself upright. “I— I don’t—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s a lot,” Bellamy told her, forcing his voice to remain steady. “And I’m sure you have a lot of questions, but </span>
  <em>
    <span>we need to go. </span>
  </em>
  <span>We need to get out of here. We need to—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clarke collapsed.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>so uh. Riordan and the Percy Jackson universe really just is *hand wave* about timelines and established dates and stuff. I even reread parts of the series and did hours of research to try and match canon events to irl dates but *shrug* it's a mess. SO. this fic just goes *hand wave* to all of the timeline and dates too. Arbitrarily, I made the events from The Lightning Thief happen in 2014, but that's more for my sake than anything. There's really no dates that are important to understanding this fic, but I usually like to establish how fic events fit into the canon timeline. Hope that helps and makes sense!</p><p>Thanks for all the lovely comments. You all make my day &lt;3</p><p>Paw</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Clarke and Bellamy Run the Bases</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p><strong>Here's a little clarification on how the Lotus Hotel and Casino works in regards to time:</strong> the Lotus Hotel and Casino is a location that is canon in the Percy Jackson series. Time flows differently in the hotel than it does for the rest of the world. Basically, if characters are in the hotel, they are ‘frozen in time.’ This means they do not age (physically or mentally) while in the hotel. Therefore, Clarke is still 21 and Bellamy is still 23. I hope this clears a few things up for those of you wondering!<br/><em>(fun fact! there is a character in the PJO books that was stuck in the Lotus Hotel and Casino for over 70 years! when they leave the hotel, they are still a teenager. Clarke's story takes some inspiration from this.)</em></p><p>Enjoy!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Clarke didn’t know things could go so wrong so fast.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The night had been a blur, as usual. Loud music, flashing lights, the feeling of freedom coursing through her. What </span>
  <em>
    <span>was </span>
  </em>
  <span>new was the man beside her, and the feeling of contentedness in his arms, and the strong </span>
  <em>
    <span>pull </span>
  </em>
  <span>she had towards him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Things had changed so quickly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>One moment, his arms were wrapped around her and she was pressing sweet kisses into his neck—the next, he was crouched in front of her, his hand pressed against her forehead and his eyes concerned.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>And, between those two moments, her world had changed forever.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Clarke,” he said again, his voice sounding so far away. “Clarke, stay with me. Focus, okay? Focus.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It sounded like he was talking through water.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Water.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Her vision shifted. Suddenly, it wasn’t Bellamy standing in front of her. The air on her arms wasn’t the stale air of the elevator, nor the hot and dry air of Vegas—it was cool, and fresh, and misted with water.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clarke blinked several times to clear her vision. The memory was hazy, as if she was looking directly at the sun and—yes, this was a memory. She could feel it more than she could </span>
  <em>
    <span>remember </span>
  </em>
  <span>it. There was something about the feeling of the sticky leather seats of the boat under her thighs, and the openness of the sky, and the sound of laughter that made her feel like she was home.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She brushed her hair off her face, causing it to billow out behind her as the air whipped through her. To her right sat her father.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Her father.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>She realized she didn’t know what he looked like until this very moment. His brown hair had the slightest wave to it. The glare of the sun </span>
  <em>
    <span>almost </span>
  </em>
  <span>obscured the grey streaked through. He was </span>
  <em>
    <span>smiling </span>
  </em>
  <span>as he drove the boat, his laughter resonating much louder in her chest than anything she could remember.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And her mother. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Her mother. </span>
  </em>
  <span>She sat at the back of the boat, sunglasses settled on the edge of her nose and her hair blowing in the wind, just as Clarke’s was. Abby watched Jake with a fond smile, making Clarke’s chest ache. She wasn’t too sure if the ache was a part of the memory or if it was a reaction to the image in front of her.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>They were so in love. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Clarke remembered that she wanted to find love like that. Maybe that was why her chest panged so sharply. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Or maybe it was something darker than that.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Maybe it was because she knew that it didn’t fucking matter how much someone loved another person. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Love couldn’t save anybody.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Abby called out to her, her voice sounding even further away than Bellamy’s did. Her mother waved her closer, urging her to come sit beside her. Was it true that Clarke liked to curl into her mother’s side? Was it true that they’d like to open their arms wide and turn their face to the sky and bask in the sunlight?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She wasn’t sure.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Clarke!”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>That </span>
  </em>
  <span>voice was distinctly Bellamy’s.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clarke blinked hard and, just as quickly as the image of her parents and the boat and </span>
  <em>
    <span>freedom</span>
  </em>
  <span> appeared, it faded again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She was back in the elevator, the dirty carpet pressed against her cheek, gasping for air. Bellamy kneeled beside her, his stare frantic and cautious, his hands hovering several inches away from her back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Focus,” he requested. “Listen to my voice. Okay? Don’t fall back. Stay with me. Stay.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Despite not knowing what he truly meant, she could take her best guess.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Something was wrong.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>She could feel it now—a sharp tug on her mind, pulling her underwater—and she wondered how she managed to miss it this whole time? How had she not been more terrified by the fact she couldn’t remember her parents? How had she not realized she couldn’t remember </span>
  <em>
    <span>anything </span>
  </em>
  <span>from before the Lotus Hotel?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With Bellamy’s voice repeating the same words over and over—</span>
  <em>
    <span>‘stay, wake up, stay’—</span>
  </em>
  <span>the memories were slowly starting to come back. The crash of emotions left her gasping.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>The hotel didn’t simply take away her memories, it took her emotions away too. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Without the memories of her past, she had nothing to </span>
  <em>
    <span>hurt </span>
  </em>
  <span>over, nothing to </span>
  <em>
    <span>grieve.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>The grief that hit her now made her feel like she was dying.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The anger that followed made her feel alive.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>And the confusion—the loneliness—the dread—the numbness—</span>
  </em>
  <span>those all came later.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Things were slowly starting to make sense. It was as though Bellamy’s words had flipped a switch in her brain, or pulled down a wall. His prompts to </span>
  <em>
    <span>wake up </span>
  </em>
  <span>had caused the memories of her past to flood back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clarke was confused, but she knew one thing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The world was not what it seemed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?” she gasped. Bellamy still hovered at her side. She reached for him, desperate to feel something that would tether her back to reality. “What’s happening?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He repeated himself from earlier. “We need to go. Okay? You need to trust me and </span>
  <em>
    <span>we need to go right now. </span>
  </em>
  <span>It’ll make more sense once we’re outside—once we’re clear of the building. Alright?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The building.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The dread that ran through her veins made her feel cold. Bellamy’s rambled words from earlier were beginning to make sense.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The building was washing her memories away. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The building was making her forget her past, and her memories, and </span>
  <em>
    <span>herself.</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Was it the building, or was it the people?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clarke thought of Josephine, the daughter of the man who owned this building. The red flags she dismissed earlier—her jokes about Clarke staying with her forever, all the pushes she gave for Clarke to not think too hard, the tight hold she had on her, the weird obsession she had with always being beside her, the security that trailed her earlier—it all made sense.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bellamy had said it earlier. The monsters of Greek mythology were real, and Josephine was one of them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was with that thought that </span>
  <em>
    <span>another </span>
  </em>
  <span>barrier in Clarke’s mind broke. A flood of knowledge swept through her—knowledge that she had before she arrived in Vegas, knowledge that the hotel had somehow forced her to lock away.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Greek mythology.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>She was the blood of Olympus.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was something her parents told her often. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Her parents; children of the gods. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuck,” she gasped. Her grip on Bellamy’s forearm tightened. He didn’t seem to care—he never acknowledged the pain she was sure he was in. “Gods. I— We—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her gaze was drawn to him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Looking at him wasn’t different now that she was awake. She was still drawn to him—his features still made her heart race. His eyes still held the same warmth they did while playing darts, and she wanted to kiss his lips just as much as she did a few minutes ago, and the curls bouncing in front of his eyes made her heart swoop.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was the only thing that hadn’t just been pulled out from under her feet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bellamy was just as beautiful as he was hours ago, and she </span>
  <em>
    <span>wanted to kiss him </span>
  </em>
  <span>just as much as she did minutes ago. </span>
  <em>
    <span>That </span>
  </em>
  <span>hadn’t changed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>What </span>
  <em>
    <span>had </span>
  </em>
  <span>changed was the fact that his clothing made her feel chilled.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His clothes were unlike anything she’d seen before. Sure, she was used to loud patterns and baggy shirts, but there was something unnervingly wrong with what he wore. The leg of his shorts weren’t wide enough, the waistband sat too low on his hips, his shirt was too thin and had a </span>
  <em>
    <span>strange </span>
  </em>
  <span>neckline. Even the sunglasses still tucked away in his breast pocket looked strange, with rounder edges than she was used to and being made out of a cheaper material.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What did you say?” she asked, her voice coming out weak. She locked eyes with him. “What year did you say it was?”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Please say 1987. Please say 1987.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“2019.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clarke choked on her breath.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>So, she hadn’t imagined those words.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” she breathed. The rapid beat of her heart washed away all other sounds. Suddenly, the hotel seemed very far away—she couldn’t hear the music playing in the elevator, and she couldn’t hear the distant sounds of cheering, and she </span>
  <em>
    <span>couldn’t breathe. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Clarke’s nails dug into her palm. “No, that’s not possible. I’ve only been here for two weeks. I’ve only— I—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’ve been here for </span>
  <em>
    <span>thirty years. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Time flows differently here.” Bellamy straightened up, a guarded expression masking his features. “It feels like I’ve only been here for a few hours—maybe half a day—but I have </span>
  <em>
    <span>no fucking clue </span>
  </em>
  <span>how long I’ve really been gone for.” His jaw rippled and his eyes turned towards the sky. “Fucking gods and their fucking agendas and their fucking half-truths. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck them.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Clarke pushed her hand through her hair. She was spiralling. She could feel it. It felt like she was seconds away from getting sick and, briefly, she was tempted to let her mind get pulled back to the state of bliss that came with the Lotus Hotel.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We need to go,” Bellamy said again, this time leaving no room for arguing. He glanced cautiously towards the cameras. “Let’s hope they haven’t been watching.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And, suddenly, Clarke wasn’t falling anymore. She found comfort in the feelings of numbness that came over her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Survive first. Emotions later.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Once she was out of the hotel, she could question Bellamy on the millions of things running through her mind—like who he really was, and why he was in the hotel, and how he knew it was all a trap. Once she was safe, she’d allow herself to spiral.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clarke pushed herself up from the ground and went straight to the control panel. She re-pressed the stop button Bellamy hit moments ago. Gently, the elevator began to move upwards again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What are you doing?” he asked, stepping up beside her. She batted his hand away before he could hit the stop button again. “We need to be going </span>
  <em>
    <span>down. </span>
  </em>
  <span>We need to go and—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I need to get my things,” she responded. “We go up to my hotel room, I grab my bag, and we head out. It’ll take less than five minutes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bellamy scoffed. “Hold on. You’re going to get your </span>
  <em>
    <span>stuff? </span>
  </em>
  <span>We need to go before the lotus-eaters notice we’re both awake and try to kill us.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’ll take less than five minutes to go to my room and get out. We’ll be fine.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This is </span>
  <em>
    <span>my </span>
  </em>
  <span>mission, Princess. We’re doing this my way—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She turned to glare at him. “Listen, I appreciate you </span>
  <em>
    <span>rescuing me, </span>
  </em>
  <span>but you heard me earlier; I’m not fond of princesses who sit around and wait to be saved. I’m here and I have a brain, so we do this </span>
  <em>
    <span>our way. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Alright?” His expression didn’t give away his thoughts. “Besides, your plan sucks.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Excuse me? My plan doesn’t—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The elevator doors opened. Clarke strode out in front of him, leaving him to chase after her. There was less of a thrill with the action now that the game of chase had turned into running for their lives. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’ve been here for a few hours, I’ve been here two weeks. I </span>
  <em>
    <span>know </span>
  </em>
  <span>the people who own this hotel, Bellamy. You don’t. Let’s both agree that I have expertise here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Listen, Griffin, your grandfather sent </span>
  <em>
    <span>me. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Dionysus is—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Griffin. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He called her Griffin. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He knew her last name. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>That </span>
  </em>
  <span>was something she </span>
  <em>
    <span>knew </span>
  </em>
  <span>she didn’t tell him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My grandfather sent you?” Clarke glanced back at him, a bubble of hurt rising in her. “Glad to know that everything was an act, Bellamy. Also, nice to know that you knew </span>
  <em>
    <span>exactly </span>
  </em>
  <span>who I was when we met.” He fell silent. “We’ll deal with </span>
  <em>
    <span>that </span>
  </em>
  <span>particular problem later.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She fought to keep the hurt down as she walked the hallway, but she couldn’t stop the spark of betrayal that rose in her chest and spread to her fingertips.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>While she was under the spell, she had been in control of her every decision. Maybe her memories were clouded, but she had still been able to </span>
  <em>
    <span>think </span>
  </em>
  <span>and she’d still been in </span>
  <em>
    <span>control. </span>
  </em>
  <span>She had genuinely been attracted to Bellamy and, </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck, </span>
  </em>
  <span>it hurt to realize that he had approached her out of an obligation to a mission, not because he returned any feelings for her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fuck it. She didn’t have time to be hurt over something as miniscule and worthless as this. If their positions were reversed, she would’ve done the same—it was the easiest way to get someone to trust her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clarke fumbled for her room key, her hands still shaking from the overwhelming amount of news dumped on her in the last ten minutes. Bellamy stood a few feet behind her, silent and, if she wasn’t reading his expression wrong, judgy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Although, she could most definitely be reading him wrong. The simple truth was </span>
  <em>
    <span>she didn’t even know him.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>She pushed the card into the slot and turned the door handle in one swift movement.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clarke bumped into the door. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It hadn’t opened for her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She tried swiping her key again, this time paying attention to the way she inserted the card. When the little red light flashed again, signalling that she wasn’t doing it right, she pulled the card out and double checked she was holding it the right way.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It looked fine to her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“All good?” Bellamy pressed. He sounded impatient.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It must’ve gotten demagnetized,” she guessed. She turned to him, frowning. “It’s not working for me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bellamy glanced down the hallway, back in the direction of the elevator. He was growing more impatient and annoyed by the second, if his shifting posture and drumming fingers were any indication.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He stepped forward, his hand outstretched. “Give it here. I’ll try.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clarke happily obliged, just so she could step back and let him struggle for a few seconds. She watched him intently work at the door, doing everything </span>
  <em>
    <span>she </span>
  </em>
  <span>just tried to no avail.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“See,” she said. “It’s not working.” Clarke stepped up beside him, their shoulders brushing. She grabbed the card out of his grasp and swiped a few more times. “I must’ve messed up the chip in the arcade.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Or someone doesn’t want you to get into your room.” Bellamy glanced nervously over his shoulder. Clarke rolled her eyes at his dramatics. Monsters might’ve been real, but she had been living with them for over two weeks. Why would they suddenly decide to come after her </span>
  <em>
    <span>now? </span>
  </em>
  <span>It didn’t make sense.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re being paranoid,” she snapped. “They </span>
  <em>
    <span>know </span>
  </em>
  <span>me and </span>
  <em>
    <span>trust </span>
  </em>
  <span>me. I’ve been here for two weeks. I’m friends with Josephine.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Josephine? You mentioned her while we were dancing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clarke swallowed back her tight throat at the memory of being pressed against him. The night was nice while it lasted.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Josephine is the daughter of the man who owns the hotel—Russell Lightbourne. They’ve been really sweet to me.” She glanced at Bellamy out of the corner of her eye. “In fact, they’ve been nicer to me than </span>
  <em>
    <span>you </span>
  </em>
  <span>have. Why should I trust you? Maybe </span>
  <em>
    <span>you’re </span>
  </em>
  <span>the monster trying to eat me, not them.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He laughed dryly. “Listen, </span>
  <em>
    <span>princess, </span>
  </em>
  <span>trust me or not, I don’t really care. If you know what’s good for you, you’ll listen to the person that didn’t steal your memories.” His eyes were cold when they settled on hers. It was a long cry from the warmth in them only moments before. “You’re not the first person to call me a monster, so, save it.” He jiggled the door handle one last time before stepping back. “It’s no use. We need to go without your stuff.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He had a point. No matter what she believed about the Lightbournes, staying in the Lotus Hotel was a nightmare. She could feel her mind clouding over again. Without a doubt, she knew that if she stayed much longer in the hotel, she’d fall right back into their clutches and lose her memories.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Let’s go.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Except, they couldn’t take the elevator.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clarke tried two times and Bellamy tried three; her room key wasn’t working on the elevator either.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Great,” Bellamy breathed, “we’re sitting ducks.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He walked the short distance to the large glass window between the two sets of elevators. He glanced towards the street, which Clarke knew rested forty floors below them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Unless you have wings you’re hiding, we’re not getting out that way.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not becoming the next man to fly too close to the sun. I know my place, and it’s not in the sky.” He glanced around the hallway before settling on a glowing exit sign. “We could take the stairs.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The stairs? Really? That’s forty flights.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s our only option.” Bellamy’s clear panic must’ve been slowly starting to bleed into her because she was </span>
  <em>
    <span>actually considering</span>
  </em>
  <span> taking the stairs. He didn’t give her a chance to back out. He pushed open the door under the glowing red exit sign and gestured to her to follow. “At least we’re going down, not up.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Right. Small victories.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They began their descent down the stairs, Bellamy a few paces in front of her. Her mind was racing as fast as her feet. It felt like she was slowly being pushed back onto shore after a tide; piece by piece, her memory was coming back to her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You said Dionysus earlier,” Clarke pointed out, her breath coming out in gasps. “You’re telling me that my grandfather </span>
  <em>
    <span>sent you?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s complicated.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Everything’s complicated if you make it. Give it to me straight. Did my grandfather send you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She was growing dizzy from the speed they were winding down the stairs. The air in the stairwell was stale and still, sticking to her skin like a hot summer day.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He sent me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bellamy rounded on her. She didn’t stop her descent in time and ended up bumping right into his chest. “Can we do this later? We’re kind of in the middle of running for our lives.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She snorted. “Right. Because there’s people chasing us. Of course.” Clarke rolled her eyes and gestured around them. “It’s just </span>
  <em>
    <span>us, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Bellamy. Nobody knows where we are! Nobody knows that you’re trying to break me out! Hell, even the security guards we passed while leaving Sanctum probably think we’re back at my hotel room, and that’s that. So. Chill?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I won’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>chill.” </span>
  </em>
  <span>He pointed to the corner of the stairwell, bringing Clarke’s attention towards a red blinking light. “You see that? They’re watching us </span>
  <em>
    <span>right now. </span>
  </em>
  <span>They’re </span>
  <em>
    <span>always </span>
  </em>
  <span>watching us. They’re watching </span>
  <em>
    <span>you.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Clarke thought back to all the security earlier that day, when it felt like they were watching her every move. She easily dismissed that thought in the bathroom, her thoughts silenced by the blasting music, but now—</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Now, it was all she could think of.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>How could she have missed so many red flags?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why?” she pressed. “Why </span>
  <em>
    <span>me. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Why are you here </span>
  <em>
    <span>for me?” </span>
  </em>
  <span>She racked her brain, trying to pull the minimal information together. “Did my mom send you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Your mom? No, I don’t know your mom. I already </span>
  <em>
    <span>told you. </span>
  </em>
  <span>It was Dionysus.” He took the next few steps slowly, waiting for her to follow him. She held her ground firmly and he stopped. “We can do this in the car, alright?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Who said anything about going in a car with you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She didn’t know him. She didn’t know her grandfather either. Her whole life, the gods shunned her and her family. Why would that change now? Why was her grandfather showing any interest in her life when, previously, he was the one to tell her that she wouldn’t be able to attend Camp Half-Blood?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bellamy’s hands ran down his face, showing his frustration. “Clarke, </span>
  <em>
    <span>stop fucking around.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Please. Your grandfather sent me to bring you to him. Alright? Simple stuff. We leave the hotel, we get in my car, and I’ll have you in New York in five days.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My grandfather is a self-absorbed asshole who—”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“THERE!”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>The shout cut Clarke off. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her hands froze at her sides.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bellamy sprung into action quicker than she did. He darted to the centre of the stairwell and glanced up, his eyes widening. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Run!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then, before she could begin to question what was happening, he grabbed her wrist and began to race down the stairs again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clarke sprinted beside Bellamy, both of their shoulders colliding with each other as they ran down the stairs. She risked a glance up the centre column of the stairs, her heart in her throat, and—</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bellamy pulled her back just in time. A projectile whizzed inches in front of her nose, sucking the air from her lungs and making her body feel distant.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A dart.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>It was a dart.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Clarke saw it briefly as it bounced against the floor beneath her. It wasn’t like the playing darts she threw with Bellamy earlier that day—these were smaller and had a needle for a nose and, most concerningly, were filled with a clear fluid.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She didn’t want to stick around to figure out what they were shooting at her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Go!” She pushed Bellamy to the side, urging him forward, and they were running again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Between the chaos, she dropped his hand. She clutched the railing along the wall, holding just tight enough to keep her from falling down a flight of stairs. Despite knowing he could move faster than her, Bellamy hung at her side, his arm braced in front of her body to catch her if she fell.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For a long moment, it was just her, and the thud of her feet on the stairs, and her breathless gasps, and the echo of voices around the empty staircase, and </span>
  <em>
    <span>fear </span>
  </em>
  <span>coursing through her alongside the adrenaline.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She didn’t slow to look behind her again, but she knew that they—whoever </span>
  <em>
    <span>they </span>
  </em>
  <span>were—were gaining on them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Their footsteps echoed in the stairwell—loud and heavy. There must’ve been a dozen of them only a few flights of stairs above. </span>
  <em>
    <span>And their voices. </span>
  </em>
  <span>They were shouting back and forth to each other too quick and distorted by the echo for her to make out.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>She managed to make out one word.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wanheda!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For the life of her, she couldn’t figure it out. Ancient Greek came easy to her—a by-product of her genes—but </span>
  <em>
    <span>that was not Ancient Greek.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s the—” Clarke gasped for breath. “What’s the plan!?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bellamy’s head whipped around to glance at her, his eyes wild and cheeks flushed. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Plan!?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“We can’t—” A particularly loud shout from the lotus-eaters above them made Clarke’s pace quicken. “We can’t run from them forever!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before he could respond, another jarring sound came from a few floors below them. Clarke didn’t need to peer over the railings to know that </span>
  <em>
    <span>more </span>
  </em>
  <span>of the security guards had entered the stairwell, effectively cutting them off from both ends.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuck!” Bellamy swore loudly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His steps didn’t slow as they continued to race towards the lobby. Her heart was pounding so fast that she was </span>
  <em>
    <span>sure </span>
  </em>
  <span>the monsters could hear it. She continued to chase after Bellamy, her steps growing hesitant. Each way they went, they were trapped.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>They were trapped.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bellamy—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know!” He came to an abrupt stop, his arm shooting out to stop her as well. As Clarke bent over, trying to catch her breath, he darted to the centre of the stairs and glanced in both directions. When he swore again, she didn’t take it as a good sign.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He turned to her, his eyes frantic. “New plan.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We </span>
  <em>
    <span>had</span>
  </em>
  <span> a plan?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He ignored her and glanced back down the stairs. Security was getting close enough that she could see them without needing to stick her whole neck out and that </span>
  <em>
    <span>terrified </span>
  </em>
  <span>her.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Breathe. Just breathe.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Her father’s words washed through her. They’d been so easy to forget and so hard to remember, yet they sounded so clear now.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>‘Serenity is a warrior's weapon.’ </span>
  </em>
  <span>It was a ridiculous quote that he repeated to her too many times to count but </span>
  <em>
    <span>why would he say that? </span>
  </em>
  <span>Why would he—</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It hit her all at once.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>She had been trained for this.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>She’d been training for this exact moment her whole life—she was taught to always be ready to run, always be ready to fight, always hold her ground. She was taught to hang on until she could see the sun in the sky, or see the stars at night—because not making it to tomorrow was </span>
  <em>
    <span>not </span>
  </em>
  <span>an option.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>There was something there—</span>
  </em>
  <span>something that felt so distant and so close all at once. It was a tangible thought, nearly clear enough that she could grasp it with her hands. She could feel slick metal in her hands, and could hear the soft </span>
  <em>
    <span>pang </span>
  </em>
  <span>of a bow string, and </span>
  <em>
    <span>feel </span>
  </em>
  <span>her shoulders burning as she lifted her arm towards the sky—</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before the memory could fully form, Bellamy was grabbing her hand and pulling her behind him once again. He kicked the door on the landing open, not wasting a second before he pulled both of them through.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Instantly, Clarke was hit with a wave of cool air from the hallway they entered, leaving behind the humid stairwell. She barely made it three steps before he urged her to stop with a sharp tug on her wrist.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She rounded on him, her eyes wide and her chest heaving and— “Bellamy!? Bellamy, what are you—?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’re evening the field!” He locked eyes with her. His jaw was locked with determination, his nostrils flared with each heavy breath, and sweat trickled down the side of his face—yet he still looked beautiful. “Get ready!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What!?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She didn’t have to wonder long.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He hung onto the handle of the door and braced his shoulder against the metal panel, </span>
  <em>
    <span>waiting. </span>
  </em>
  <span>His legs bent and his eyes darted and—</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She saw them before he did.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The security that had been chasing them for the last several flights of stairs had finally caught up to them. As soon as the leader of the group touched the landing mere feet away from Clarke, she realized exactly what Bellamy was doing.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>He was luring some of them out of the stairwell and splitting the group.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Acting on instinct she didn’t remember having, Clarke sidestepped, narrowly missing </span>
  <em>
    <span>another </span>
  </em>
  <span>dart shot in her direction. Her shoulder connected roughly with the wall, sending a shock through her body and stealing the breath from her lungs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She was still gasping for breath when she dodged the second dart. And the third. And the—</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A plan formed in her mind before she could think about it. Clarke turned and </span>
  <em>
    <span>ran </span>
  </em>
  <span>down the long and narrow hallway, leaving Bellamy to complete </span>
  <em>
    <span>his </span>
  </em>
  <span>end of the plan alone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She hoped he wouldn’t fuck up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She raced past a potted plant resting on a metallic table, framing the exterior of the elevators. Her eyes locked on the far wall at the end of the hallway, determination rushing through her and a half-plan forming between the fog that threatened to pull her under.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A dart blew through her hair, making her heart almost completely stop. Her nails drew blood out of the palm of her hand. Her knees felt weak. Her gaze darted around the hallway, desperate for </span>
  <em>
    <span>something—anything—</span>
  </em>
  <span>she could use.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>There.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a large red panel on the wall around the corner; above, hung a diagram showing a flame outlined in a red triangle. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Perfect.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>She quickly changed course, gripping the wall to help tighten her turn, cutting herself off from the approaching monsters.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her hand slammed into the metal siding of the door, her movements choppy and frantic as she tried to unhook it. Voices were growing louder. She could feel the floor shaking under the stress of the approaching footsteps.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Finally—</span>
  <em>
    <span>finally—</span>
  </em>
  <span>she threw open the panel and ripped the red cylinder from its holding position on the wall. With her hands firmly planted along the sides of it, she spun on her heel and arced the object through the air—</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>The force of impact could be felt across every inch of her body.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>The end of the fire extinguisher connected sharply under the jaw of an approaching lotus-eater. The monster, which had been posing as security, flew forward from the momentum of her hit and crumpled to the floor.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Still moving, she removed the pin from the top and fired the white foam out of the nozzle. The two other lotus-eaters that had been following her were briefly incapacitated by the foam, giving her enough time to swing the metal container through the air two more times. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The clang of metal against bone was audible. Vibrations from the impact ran up her shoulders and rattled her teeth. The bodies thumped against the ground.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then—</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>—silence.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Clarke’s chest heaved for air as she looked down at the three lotus-eaters, now out cold on the ground. Her heartbeat was so frantic that it was the only thing she could hear.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The fire extinguisher fell to the ground, now completely empty and sporting several fresh dents. Her hands shook as she brought them to press against her middle, suddenly feeling </span>
  <em>
    <span>cold.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>She simply stared at the three bodies around her, her eyes </span>
  <em>
    <span>looking </span>
  </em>
  <span>at them, but her mind not truly comprehending what just happened.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Holy shit.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>A moment of nothingness came and went before she was sharply brought back to reality.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In the distance, she could hear grunting and clanging of metal. Her heart jumped yet </span>
  <em>
    <span>again </span>
  </em>
  <span>as she remembered Bellamy.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Clarke glanced around, desperate to find something else to use. The fire extinguisher was unbalanced now, the grey hose along the wall was too short to reach the stairwell, the flower pot by the elevators that she saw earlier might’ve been a good idea, but—</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her eyes zeroed in on a flash of metal from underneath one of the security guards. It looked like the length of a pen poking out from under his body. Clarke stepped over the unconscious body of the second guard and kicked the leader’s hand to the side, allowing the object to roll out of his grasp.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was the tranquilizer dart gun—the one that was used to shoot at her just minutes ago.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When she heard a loud crash from somewhere else on the floor, she grabbed it without hesitation and took off back towards Bellamy. As she sprinted, she checked the cartridge and was relieved to find it full of small darts.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She tried to keep her footsteps quiet as she ran, not knowing exactly what she was going to find. She </span>
  <em>
    <span>thought </span>
  </em>
  <span>she knew his plan, but considering he hadn’t surfaced from the hallway yet, she was beginning to doubt herself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The wall was rough against her back. She clutched the gun in her hands. Clarke let her eyes slide shut and she took several calming breaths, willing her hand to stop shaking so she could aim properly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In a swift movement, she spun into the hallway, the gun lifted and aimed towards the stairwell doors. Her finger flinched, but she stopped herself a hair short from pulling the trigger.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bellamy had his back pressed against the stairwell doors, both of his arms pressed flush against the walls and his legs planted firmly on the ground. Even from the distance she was at, his expression was pinched. The veins along his neck stood out prominently as he strained to keep the door shut.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They locked eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Move!” she demanded.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He choked on his words, clearly exhausted. She took a step forward and shook the gun.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Move, Bellamy!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He didn’t have much of a choice.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His legs gave out from under him and the door burst open. In rapid succession, Clarke fired eight shots into the oncoming hoard of lotus-eaters. One after another, they dropped to the ground, unconscious.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Silence followed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her chest heaved as she stared at yet </span>
  <em>
    <span>another </span>
  </em>
  <span>pile of bodies of her making. Her eyes flicked down towards the dart gun in her hands, still raised and ready to fire.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clarke hoped with everything in her that the substance in the darts was simply a tranquilizer, not something lethal.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steering herself away from that train of thought, she glanced at Bellamy, who was pressed against the wall behind the door, gasping for breath and struggling to stay upright.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You good?” He nodded. “There’s only eight down here, plus the three I got earlier. That’s eleven. How many were after us?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“More.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fucking fantastic.” She checked the cartridge of darts in the gun. Her heart sunk when she realized it was empty. “We need to move. The others must’ve split to take another staircase.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clarke dropped to her knees in front of the pile of bodies and began to sift through them. Bellamy watched her, his expression only </span>
  <em>
    <span>slightly </span>
  </em>
  <span>repulsed. “Oh, come on. I need more ammo, you need </span>
  <em>
    <span>some </span>
  </em>
  <span>sort of weapon.” She continued to dig until she found what she was looking for. She grabbed the gun out of one of their hands and tossed it in Bellamy’s direction before going back for more ammo.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re bleeding,” he pointed out, still sounding breathless. Clarke’s gaze shifted from reloading her gun to the skin along her hands. A liquid covered her knuckles, a mix of red and gold—</span>
  <em>
    <span>the blood of a mortal and the blood of an immortal.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>She busied herself again. “It’s not all mine.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The image of crumpled bodies and the sound of cracking bone would not leave her mind easily.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bellamy was silent as she worked. The click of her gun closing broke the silence between them. He spoke. “You took down the three that got through?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah.” She tilted her head in the direction she came from. “They’re down there.” She continued to sift through the pockets of the security guards, looking for anything else that might be useful. “Most of the blood’s from them.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He fell silent again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When Clarke found what she was looking for, she stood and showed the card to him. “A pass to the elevators. It’ll save ourselves from running down the next twenty flights of stairs.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good call.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Luckily, the key that Clarke swiped from the security guard worked on the elevator panel and the carriage that met them on the twentieth floor was empty once again. The first thing either of them did was shoot the cameras in the corners.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We need a plan,” she decided quickly. The doors slid shut after she pressed the button to bring them to the lobby. “They know we’re awake and there’s a good chance they’re going to be waiting for us as soon as we get down there.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bellamy’s gaze didn’t lift from where he was studying the dart gun. “A plan would be a good idea.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She watched the elevator count down their descent. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They were running out of time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Take off your shirt.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bellamy’s eyes snapped to hers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think I’m missing something here, princess.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>Clarke,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>she snapped. “Although, you already knew that. You knew that long before I told you.” He had the audacity to look briefly offended. She broke eye contact and began to undress herself. “Your </span>
  <em>
    <span>shirt, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Bellamy. I need it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She hated his cocky smirk. “What for?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Gods help me. I </span>
  <em>
    <span>need it </span>
  </em>
  <span>because they’re looking for a man in bright floral and a woman in a black blazer.” She tossed her blazer into the corner of the elevator and held her hand out expectantly. “Maybe they won’t recognize us as quick and give us an advantage, I don’t know, but we don’t really have a better plan, do we?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He handed over his outer shirt without another word.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clarke tried her best not to stare at him as she slipped it over her own white t-shirt. Without the open button-up shirt, he was left in his simple grey shirt, and it was hard not to stare at how </span>
  <em>
    <span>good </span>
  </em>
  <span>he looked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She really loved torturing herself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clarke’s eyes swept over his muscled arms and defined chest. She knew </span>
  <em>
    <span>exactly </span>
  </em>
  <span>what it felt like to be pressed up against him. She knew </span>
  <em>
    <span>exactly </span>
  </em>
  <span>what she was missing and </span>
  <em>
    <span>she hated it.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>She hated that it was all an act on his part.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The plan?” Bellamy prompted. Her eyes snapped back to the front of the elevator. “What? We’re just going to go out there and shoot anyone who looks at us funny?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We have limited darts, so, no.” She took her gun and shoved it under the waistband of her jeans, leaving just the hilt sticking out. It wasn’t the most comfortable fashion choice she made, but she hoped it would give them a few seconds of an advantage.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t you </span>
  <em>
    <span>need </span>
  </em>
  <span>that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If we go out there with our guns drawn, we’ll be instant targets.” Her gaze snapped back to his. “Now shove it down your pants before we get </span>
  <em>
    <span>shot.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He huffed, but complied. “So, what? That’s it? That’s all we’re going to do for this so-called plan of yours?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You got something better?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bellamy lifted his chin the slightest bit. “In fact, </span>
  <em>
    <span>I do. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Need I remind you, this is </span>
  <em>
    <span>my </span>
  </em>
  <span>mission. I had a plan from the start.” Clarke’s jaw tightened. Of course, </span>
  <em>
    <span>this </span>
  </em>
  <span>was the man sent to rescue her—someone that managed to grate against her every nerve. “They’re going to be looking for two people who are awake. It’s like you said; we’ll throw them off our scent by blending in.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They had seconds before they arrived at the lobby.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“The plan, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Bellamy—what’s the </span>
  <em>
    <span>plan?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“We go out there. We try to blend in. We </span>
  <em>
    <span>inch </span>
  </em>
  <span>our way to the closest exit. We’re doing this slow and steady. And </span>
  <em>
    <span>follow my lead.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Her hand inched towards the hilt of the gun in her waistband, suddenly </span>
  <em>
    <span>itching </span>
  </em>
  <span>to hold it in case it was needed. The few seconds it would take for her to get it out and aim could be the difference between life and death.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The elevator dinged, announcing their arrival. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clarke’s heart jumped. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her palms grew sweaty. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She braced herself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The doors opened—</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Nothing.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>They both stood in the elevator for a long moment, drinking in the details in front of them. People were milling about, each of them oblivious to the danger they were in, just as they were oblivious to the fight that took place only a few floors up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clarke’s eyes scanned the crowd, looking for the familiar outfits of security guards, but </span>
  <em>
    <span>nothing.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>It was a completely normal day.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright,” Bellamy whispered. He took the lead out of the elevator. She trailed after him. “Alright. We’re fine.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shush,” she hissed, her lips barely moving. She kept her expression cool and her gaze vacant, despite every instinct telling her to put on the face of a warrior and </span>
  <em>
    <span>run. </span>
  </em>
  <span>“You’re being suspicious.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bellamy fell silent after that. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They began to make their way towards the front doors of the casino, their steps even and measured. The pounding of her heart drowned out the sounds of the cheering crowds and the dinging of the games. Her stomach was rolling and </span>
  <em>
    <span>twisting—</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Bellamy stepped closer to her, his arm wrapping around her shoulders. Clarke managed to school her features and hide her reaction to the sudden contact. They needed to act natural and casual and—</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His mouth brushed against the shell of her ear. “We’re being watched.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her blood ran cold.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s fine,” he told her again, pulling back the slightest bit. “Just look at me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She complied, turning her face towards him. His smile was dazzling. Seeing the calmness on his features soothed something inside of her, quieting the storm, easing the tension in her shoulders.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was easier than it should’ve been to smile back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Where?” she breathed, her smile holding strong.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“By the bushes. Two guards. They’ve been watching us ever since we got off the elevators.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clarke’s gaze latched onto Bellamy’s, despite the temptation to turn towards where he described. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>They needed to go.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Slow and steady,” he reminded her. They both began to inch their way towards the front doors, as if they were going on a casual walk without a destination in mind. Clarke’s heart was pounding in her chest so forcefully that she swore Bellamy could feel it through the thin layers of cloth separating their bodies. “We’re fine.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know,” she told him. Her own arm wrapped around his waist in hopes that it would sell the image they were trying to pull off. If they wanted to blend in, a couple taking a stroll through the casino was their best bet. “We’re doing good.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We might actually do this,” he told her. His gaze finally left hers and he looked around the room. She strained herself to get a better bearing of her surroundings out of the corner of her eye. Nothing looked out of place. “I have my car parked up the block in a lot. Let’s hope that it’s still there.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If we make it there in one piece, I’ll consider it a miracle.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She thought back to Josephine’s joking words only hours before, when she told her that it would be nearly impossible for her to make it out the front doors.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>But, then again, </span>
  </em>
  <span>she could see the front doors now. They were just beyond this last stretch of the casino. Only a few dozen people and games stood between them and the outside world.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Almost there.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Almost there.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Anyone gets in our way, we shoot them,” he reminded her. “Just—”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>She could feel the change in him before he spoke. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>His grip tightened on her shoulders. His body went stiff beside her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clarke’s stomach twisted with worry. “What?”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>He didn’t respond.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bellamy? What is it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before he could answer, a familiar voice rang out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Clarke!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There, several feet away from both her and Bellamy, stood the blonde she’d become very familiar with over the last two weeks. Josephine was flanked by a handful of security guards and a man she didn’t recognize, her arms crossed and an annoyed expression pinching her features.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It took Clarke a beat to realize that the man at her side must’ve been her father.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fuck.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>They used her moment of hesitation to their advantage. In the time that Clarke had stopped walking, another handful of security guards surrounded them, blocking them off from all escape.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They were screwed—so, totally screwed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clarke forced herself to remain relaxed and nonchalant as she locked eyes with Josephine. Playing the part of an oblivious half-mortal went against all logic and all instinct. All she wanted to do was rip out her gun and </span>
  <em>
    <span>fire—</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Josie,” she greeted, her voice remaining smooth. “Hey.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She didn’t smile in return like she used to. Her expression alone was unsettling; her smile was curled, and her eyes too bright, and her face too </span>
  <em>
    <span>perfect. </span>
  </em>
  <span>She looked like an animated wax figure, not a real person. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clarke could tell; Josephine knew she was awake.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What are you up to?” she asked, her voice clipped. She took a single step forward, breaking from the pack. “You’re supposed to be in Sanctum.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clarke smiled easily and leaned into Bellamy’s side. “I got a little </span>
  <em>
    <span>sidetracked. </span>
  </em>
  <span>You know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know, actually.” Josephine’s eyes dragged to study Bellamy. Her gaze was calculating and sharp. “Found a new friend? Bellamy, is it?” Clarke’s heart stopped dead in her chest. Josephine, a fan of playing games, turned to the closest security guard. “Am I right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bellamy Blake, ma’am.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah, right. Bellamy Blake.” She looked </span>
  <em>
    <span>hungry </span>
  </em>
  <span>as she studied him, reminding Clarke of a predator watching their prey. He shifted, his hand growing closer to his gun. She tisked. “No need for that, Bellamy. We’re all friends here, aren’t we?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know—are we friends?” His voice was rough and sharp, a perfect match against hers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Josephine’s gaze turned to Clarke. The familiarity and warmth that originally drew Clarke in was all but gone now, leaving behind the shell of the woman she’d become friends with. How could someone wear the </span>
  <em>
    <span>exact </span>
  </em>
  <span>same face, yet look </span>
  <em>
    <span>so different?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Clarke, it’s okay,” she told her, her voice attempting to replicate the softness from earlier. “Let’s leave my father to his business with your… </span>
  <em>
    <span>friend.</span>
  </em>
  <span> We can go back to Sanctum. Or, you can go to </span>
  <em>
    <span>sleep. </span>
  </em>
  <span>That’s nice, isn’t it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clarke stilled.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Sleep.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Yes. Sleep sounded nice.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gods, Clarke almost didn’t realize how tired she truly was. When was the last time she slept? What time was it?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She glanced down at her watch and blinked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This was her father’s watch? Right? That’s why she wore it? Or was it her mother’s?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She couldn’t remember.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bellamy’s grip tightened on her shoulder. “You with me, Princess? You good?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Princess. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She didn’t like that nickname.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Josephine’s smile was more genuine now. It made her eyes feel warmer and made Clarke’s shoulders feel lighter. She didn’t want to </span>
  <em>
    <span>run </span>
  </em>
  <span>anymore, she didn’t want to </span>
  <em>
    <span>hide.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Why was she running anyway?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Clarke tugged her shoulder away from Bellamy, ignoring his weak protests and his sharp words. Only when she was separated from him did two security guards break formation and grab him, hauling him further away from him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Clarke! Hey! Wake up, Clarke, wake up—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His shouts were cut off abruptly when he was punched in the face.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>She didn’t flinch.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Clarke,” Josephine said, her voice soothing. “Let’s go home. Okay? Leave the men to their business.” She beckoned her closer. “Come here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was nothing wrong with wanting to sleep for a bit. For the first time in her life, she’d </span>
  <em>
    <span>finally </span>
  </em>
  <span>found some peace with Josephine. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was nothing wrong with wanting to stay for a while longer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Right?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She took a few steps towards Josephine. Her genuine smile lifted Clarke’s spirits the smallest bit.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good girl,” she said. “Let’s go. We’ll have more fun tomorrow.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Fun.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Clarke had lots of fun at the Lotus Hotel. She had fun dancing at Sanctum, and swimming in warm water in private pools, and throwing darts, and—</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Darts.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>The simple word seemed to shatter the spell.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The gun was in her hand and the dart was sailing through the air without a second thought. Before Josephine’s body could hit the floor, Clarke had turned and fired two more shots, hitting the two men hauling Bellamy backwards.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Hell broke loose.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Not wanting to waste ammo, she swung the butt of the gun into the jaw of the nearest security guard, sending golden blood splattering.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>And then she was running.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Her eyes locked onto Bellamy, who had just planted a firm kick into the gut of a man attempting to grab him again. Seeing another guard racing towards his back, Clarke took aim and fired another dart.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Each time, she hit her mark.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She was at his side before another guard could attempt to grab him. Her hand hooked under his elbow and, together, they began their sprint towards the front doors. Bellamy had managed to pull out his own gun and was quickly firing darts into any approaching person—guard or otherwise.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know your orders,” she heard Josephine’s father yell. “Stop her!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She found the energy to run faster.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clarke pulled the trigger of her gun one final time as a guard lunged at her. It was when the guard managed to grab onto Clarke with both hands that she realized </span>
  <em>
    <span>she was out of ammo.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Bellamy was ripped from her grasp.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The breath was knocked from her lungs when she hit the floor.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The guard’s knee dug into her chest, pinning her to the ground. A dart gun, much like the one she held in her own hands, was pressed against the side of her neck. Her pulse strained against the cool metal. She struggled to suck in a single breath. Her mind spun. Panic flared—</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then, Bellamy was in her field of vision again, hauling the guard off of her body and slamming his fist into their face. She managed to suck in a few gasps of breath before Bellamy was gripping her hand and tugging her upright.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was a frantic dash the remaining distance.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Finally—</span>
  <em>
    <span>finally—</span>
  </em>
  <span>they burst through the front doors of the casino. Instantly, Clarke felt a wave crest over her, both from the heat waiting for them on the strip of Las Vegas, and from something else.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clarke never considered Las Vegas to be anything special. When she first arrived in 1987, there had been a few small casinos scattered around with a bunch of flashing lights. It was cute, at best, but mainly, it was a place far away from her mother. That had been the selling feature.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>What stood before her now was not the same city it had been only two weeks prior. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her legs grew still under her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The city had seemingly exploded. Buildings which hadn’t been there now towered over the Lotus Hotel. In the distance, she could see new buildings which had sprung up overnight—some sporting roller coasters, others poorly resembling castles. And, even further away, she could see replicas of famous landmarks, like the Eiffel Tower.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Clarke!” Bellamy called, his voice holding no room for questions. His eyes were wild as his gaze bounced between her slack expression and the set of doors behind them. “Clarke, let’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>go!”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>She mentally shook herself, finding it easier to find her focus now that she was breathing fresh air, and took one final glance back at the Lotus Hotel and Casino.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Clarke!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She turned and sprinted off into a new world.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Find me on <a href="https://pawprinterfanfic.tumblr.com/"> Tumblr!</a></p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Bellamy Learns the Definition of Awkward</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Warnings: discussion of past character death and grief</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Memories were slowly starting to come back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bellamy was on autopilot as he wove in and out of traffic, speeding away from this cursed city, yet his mind was a million miles away.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>He’d forgotten so much.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Even when he felt awake—when he thought his mind was clear thanks to Dionysus’ gift—</span>
  <em>
    <span>it wasn’t. </span>
  </em>
  <span>The further he got away from the Lotus Hotel and Casino, the clearer his mind became.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was terrifying. He never realized how much he truly forgot until he remembered. He didn’t even know certain pieces of his memories were missing until—</span>
</p><p>
  <span>—until he could feel them, crashing upon him like the tides in a storm. The emotions that crept up his throat felt suffocating and overwhelming.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>All the grief, and the pain, and the loss, and the regrets, and the anger. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Piece by piece, they started to come back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was a beautiful night. The sky was free of clouds. He knew the stars would be blinking back at them once they broke the city limits and left the flashing lights behind.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>The stars.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>The memory hit him hard. He reacted as if he’d been plunged underwater—his breath caught, his muscles tensed, his mind spiralled.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In the memory, Bellamy’s back was flush against the coarse sand. A chill settled over him thanks to his damp clothing from a day spent on the beach; and he could tell she was cold too. He was torn between wanting to be responsible and tell his sister to get inside, and basking in the peaceful moment for just a little bit longer.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Just a little bit longer.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He recognized this memory. It was a conversation that he alternated between clinging to and pushing away, depending on the day he was having. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Octavia turned to him and he could see just how relaxed and happy she was. She laid beside him, her feet digging into the sand, the bright stars reflecting off her eyes. This was one of the few times she was allowed to act her age.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He could sense something was plaguing her thoughts.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What are you thinking about?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Raven got claimed today. Monroe last week. Roma was the week before that.” She chewed her lip. “I guess I’m just worried. That’s all.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He knew her well enough not to need her to explain. He already knew.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not leaving you,” he promised. “Even if one of us gets claimed next week, I am not leaving.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was a constant worry he had too—it was why he took so long to open up to anyone at camp. Losing someone he loved never got easier. It was terrifying to wonder who was going to leave him next.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Often, people he viewed as family were claimed by their </span>
  <em>
    <span>true </span>
  </em>
  <span>godly parent, and that was that. One day, they’d be beside him in the Hermes Cabin—practically family. The next, they’d be across the camp with their newly discovered blood siblings—practically strangers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He didn’t want that to happen, not with Octavia.</span>
</p><p><span>“I just always hoped that we were actually</span> <span>related. That way, when we are claimed, we’d still be, I donno... brother and sister, I guess. Family.”</span></p><p>
  <span>Bellamy decided not to remind her that they might never be claimed by their godly parent anyways—many demigods weren’t—but he didn’t want to snuff out the little bit of hope she clung to. He didn’t want to see her become like him. </span>
</p><p><span>Instead, he simply said, “you are my </span><em><span>family,</span></em> <span>O. My </span><em><span>sister.”</span></em></p><p>
  <span>“But I hope you’re my </span>
  <em>
    <span>forever</span>
  </em>
  <span> brother. My brother through blood.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He turned to the sky, studying the stars. The constellations of Greek heroes and gods reminded him of the complicated world they lived in with vengeance, and betrayal, and drama. It reminded him that those same gods depicted in the stars were the same gods that abandoned their children on earth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We both know this by now; blood doesn’t mean anything.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Both of them were unclaimed children of the gods; neither of them knew who their fathers were. The fact that they were both already abandoned by the gods—</span>
  <em>
    <span>abandoned by their fathers</span>
  </em>
  <span>—was the only evidence he needed to prove that blood did not mean loyalty nor love.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This was how they first were brought together. As unclaimed children, they didn’t have a true home at Camp Half-Blood, and they were placed in the Hermes Cabin temporarily, waiting until their godly parent claimed them by sending a sign to let them know who they were.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Temporarily’ turned into years for both of them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And, while they weren’t truly the children of Hermes, he looked at her and saw a sister. He saw someone that he needed to protect. He saw someone he’d cross oceans and night skies for. He saw someone he loved.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blood or not; Octavia was his sister.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Seeing the way her face fell at his response made his heart tug painfully. Bellamy bumped his foot against hers playfully, drawing their gazes together.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Besides, who says we aren’t?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bell—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I dare the gods to prove me wrong—</span>
  <em>
    <span>right now.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Claim us. Prove that it’s impossible.” When nothing happened, he grinned. “See? Not even the gods can pull us apart.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>If only that was the truth.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>It happened a few months later; except, it wasn’t the gods that pulled them apart, it was the Fates. On the ridge of that mountain, he had curled protectively over her body, sobbed for her to wake up, and begged those same gods to save his sister.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>They didn’t.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>She died in his arms, soaked in that same blood they spoke of that night on the beach, and—</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“BELLAMY!”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He was pulled abruptly from his memory, just in time to pump the brakes and swerve to miss the car in front of them. The city streets had turned into freeway and the flashing lights of Vegas were growing smaller in his rearview mirror.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>They did it.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>They got out.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Clarke gripped his forearm hard enough to make him wince. She was plastered against the passenger seat, her eyes wide and frantic, her chest heaving, her skin pale and slick with sweat. He could feel her shaking.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Pull over!” she demanded. Her wild gaze pulled from the road, latching onto his. “Bellamy, </span>
  <em>
    <span>pull the fuck over right now!”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He took the next exit, pulling into an abandoned and poorly lit parking lot. Before the car could stop rolling, Clarke threw the door open and fled.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey!” Bellamy fumbled with his seatbelt for a beat before chasing after her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The </span>
  <em>
    <span>KMART </span>
  </em>
  <span>sign on the building was extinguished and they were the only ones in the large, sandy parking lot. The only light sources were from the headlights of his Toyota and the single lamp a dozen parking stalls away, making him feel like he stepped into a completely different world.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clarke managed to stumble a few steps away from the car by the time Bellamy reached her. She gasped for breath and her fists shook against her torso. It wasn't just the lack of light that made her look like a ghost; it looked like she was about to pass out.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>It hit him.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>If the memories were making </span>
  <em>
    <span>him </span>
  </em>
  <span>feel overwhelmed and he’d only been in the hotel for a few hours, he couldn’t imagine what Clarke was feeling.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Three decades.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She’d been a prisoner in that hotel for </span>
  <em>
    <span>three decades, </span>
  </em>
  <span>and she didn’t even know she was one.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He held his hand out towards her, as if he was calming a wild animal. The steps he took were slow and even. “It’s okay. You’re okay.” She shook her head wildly and her eyes squeezed shut. “It’s a lot, I know. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I know. </span>
  </em>
  <span>But you’re okay now and—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s going on!?” She turned to him, her eyes burning and jaw clenched. She looked furious, and hurt, and confused, and </span>
  <em>
    <span>seconds away from shattering. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Fury was the glue keeping her together—he knew that. It was what he did, too, when his whole world was ripped out from under him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>After all, it was always easier to get lost in the anger than to acknowledge the pain that was snapping at his heels, like hungry wolves.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Again, she spoke. Her voice caught. “What the </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck </span>
  </em>
  <span>just happened!?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Knowing how the hotel scrambled his thoughts, he decided it would be easier to start from the beginning.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You were being held prisoner by monsters from ancient mythology called the lotus-eaters. That was their hotel; they lure you in, alter your memories, and make you want to stay forever.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He swallowed back his harsh words that he wanted to scream—</span>
  <em>
    <span>he was so fucking angry with Dionysus. </span>
  </em>
  <span>The god knew exactly where he was going, yet didn’t tell him. If he knew what he was walking into—if he had more information beyond knowing the hotel was comparable to a black hole—then he could’ve </span>
  <em>
    <span>prepared. </span>
  </em>
  <span>He could’ve been </span>
  <em>
    <span>ready </span>
  </em>
  <span>and—</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He pushed those thoughts aside. There would be time for that later, after he managed to get Clarke to stop shaking.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was no delicate way to say this. “The hotel was a time vortex. You were there for over thirty years.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clarke’s head rolled back and her head hit the side of the car. “I was only there for </span>
  <em>
    <span>two weeks. </span>
  </em>
  <span>How could— How did—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>To double check that he also hadn’t missed thirty years of his own life, Bellamy pulled open the passenger door and dug through the glove compartment. The phone he grabbed was nearly dead and had a large crack across the screen, but the date displayed eased some of his worries.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>It had only been a week and a half.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>While it felt like mere hours passed inside the casino, the world had continued to turn outside. Compared to the thirty years Clarke missed, Bellamy was almost </span>
  <em>
    <span>glad </span>
  </em>
  <span>he only missed a few weeks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s 2019,” he told Clarke. He put it back in the compartment he grabbed it from and turned back to her. “You were in there for years.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her hands shook as she rubbed her temples. “Gods, my </span>
  <em>
    <span>head.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He could feel the beginnings of his own headache too, brewing just behind his eyes. It wasn’t as sharp as his headache had been when he was inside the casino, but he still craved a dark room and cool towel.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When Clarke looked at him, it was like her eyes were peering into his soul. Suddenly, it was very hard to breathe.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Who are you?” She stalked forward a few steps, each of her movements exuding confidence and power.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was then that he remembered what Dionysus told him.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>She was dangerous.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He called her the Commander of Death. She controlled death itself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The cold fury that flashed in her eyes made his heart race for a completely different reason than before.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He took a step back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m serious,” she warned, her voice low. Her hands curled into fists at her side. Her shock and pain had melted away to this icy rage. “Who are you </span>
  <em>
    <span>really?”</span>
  </em>
  <span> Her gaze held his. “The Lightbournes called you Bellamy Blake.” She paused before she corrected herself. “I mean... the </span>
  <em>
    <span>lotus-eaters</span>
  </em>
  <span> called you that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They were telling the truth,” he said. “That’s my name—Bellamy Blake. I was sent to help you.”</span>
</p><p><span>She didn’t flinch. “You said </span><em><span>that </span></em><span>already.</span> <span>My… My grandfather sent you?”</span></p><p>
  <span>“Yes,” he said slowly, still not too sure how much she remembered from the hotel. “Do you remember what we talked about in the elevator?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I remember,” she said hotly. Her expression flickered and she pressed her fingers to her forehead again. If his headache was dull, he imagined hers as sharp. “I remember </span>
  <em>
    <span>everything.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He knew she meant more than what they talked about in the elevator—she remembered everything from before the hotel, too. Just like him, her memories were quickly flooding back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I have the blood of Ancient Greece in my veins, just as you do. You’re a demigod.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clarke laughed at that—a full laugh, too, like she did back at the casino while they were playing darts. For a moment, Bellamy wondered if she was reliving a memory instead of living in the present because what he said was </span>
  <em>
    <span>not </span>
  </em>
  <span>that funny, but—</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not a demigod,” she said, her voice low and rough. “I’ve never been special enough for that title.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bellamy’s lips quirked up. He knew that all too well.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Me neither.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That made Clarke pause. She stared at him for a long moment, as if trying to decide something. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Finally, she spoke. “You’re a legacy too?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bellamy had to look away, suddenly feeling a wave of repressed emotions rising up in him. The injustice, the hurt, the longing to belong. He thought he left it all in the past, but the ferocity at which he felt them now begged to differ.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maybe he had just tried to forget all this anger; maybe he never truly dealt with it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His jaw tightened. “It’s complicated.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was a simple answer. Not a lie, but not the truth either.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clarke accepted it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It always is.” She tilted her head in thought. “Did you say which of my grandfathers sent you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...The one that’s a god?”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Yes, </span>
  </em>
  <span>I put </span>
  <em>
    <span>that </span>
  </em>
  <span>together. But… You said Dionysus, right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His mind was slowly trying to piece everything together. “You didn’t know your dad was the son of Dionysus?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Instantly, he felt a ghost of a pain in his chest. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Her dad </span>
  </em>
  <span>wasn’t ever claimed either, just like him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The sympathetic pain was wiped away by her next answer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No. I’m a </span>
  <em>
    <span>double </span>
  </em>
  <span>legacy, Bellamy. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Both </span>
  </em>
  <span>of my grandfathers are Greek gods.” His shock must’ve been evident on his face. She grew amused. “What, you didn’t know? Your precious gods didn’t tell you who you were saving?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Anger was easy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Let’s get one thing straight,” he snapped, taking a step forward, “they’re not </span>
  <em>
    <span>my precious gods, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Griffin.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The anger wasn’t directed at </span>
  <em>
    <span>her. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He was angry because she was </span>
  <em>
    <span>right.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Dionysus withheld information from him—information that </span>
  <em>
    <span>he needed. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Not telling him all the information about Clarke was one thing, but not telling him about the lotus-eaters was something completely different.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The god didn’t tell him that Clarke was from the eighties either, </span>
  <em>
    <span>which was pretty fucking important information. </span>
  </em>
  <span>The god </span>
  <em>
    <span>also </span>
  </em>
  <span>didn’t tell him that he was not the only divine ancestor of Clarke.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bellamy saw red.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They never changed, did they? Seven years ago, his eyes were opened to their carelessness and recklessness, and they hadn’t fucking changed. He hoped—</span>
  <em>
    <span>a tiny piece of him had hoped—</span>
  </em>
  <span>that they’d learned from their mistakes, but—</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maybe being immortal meant their beliefs were just as unchanging as their appearances.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dionysus sent him to Vegas woefully unprepared for the situation. He’d twisted his words and </span>
  <em>
    <span>lied </span>
  </em>
  <span>to him to get him to do his bidding, and Bellamy was the fool who fell for it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m the granddaughter of Dionysus, yes. My father is—</span>
  <em>
    <span>was</span>
  </em>
  <span>—the son of Dionysus. But I’m also the granddaughter of </span>
  <em>
    <span>Apollo. </span>
  </em>
  <span>My mother is his daughter.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And, suddenly, it all made sense.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hearing the other half to the story—learning that she was also the granddaughter of Apollo—</span>
  <em>
    <span>that </span>
  </em>
  <span>made everything click together.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bellamy didn’t know how he missed it earlier; her aiming abilities made it blatantly obvious. It was like his skill with projectile and long-range weapons; his father had good aim, and it was a skill that he inherited and honed while at camp. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Children of the gods were more likely to develop certain traits and talents, depending on their parents. Children of Athena were brilliant, children of Apollo were skilled with a bow and arrow, children of Hephaestus were talented in the forge.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clarke, it seemed, had a talent for archery in her blood—just like he did.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She also apparently had the ability to manipulate life and death—an ability so powerful that he originally thought she was the daughter of one of the Big Three. At first, learning that she was merely the </span>
  <em>
    <span>granddaughter </span>
  </em>
  <span>of one of the Olympians didn’t make sense. There wasn’t any way that someone that far down the descendant line would be able to have that ability.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Except, she was the descendent of Apollo, the god of healing and medicine, and also the descendent of Dionysus, a god linked to the concept of death and rebirth. It was the perfect combination to make </span>
  <em>
    <span>her—</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>—the Commander of Death.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why did he send you?” she pressed, her tone just as fierce as it was. It was enough to snap him from his thoughts.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dionysus wants you home and wants you safe.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her nose wrinkled. “My grandfather never cared about me before—why now? Why the sudden interest?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He could see her teetering on the edge of panic; she was so close to the edge—so close to losing it all. It was natural, considering all she had been through.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bellamy couldn’t tell her. He wanted to—</span>
  <em>
    <span>he really fucking wanted to tell her that she was controlling life and death, he wanted to tell her that she had a power greater than any half-blood or demigod that he’d met or heard about—</span>
  </em>
  <span>but he couldn’t.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The night Dionysus called him, he made it very clear.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>He wasn’t allowed to tell Clarke the truth.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>When Bellamy agreed to this, he didn’t realize exactly what it meant.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>It meant that he was going to have to lie to her.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>She was going to have questions and he couldn't tell her the truth.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re not safe here, Clarke,” Bellamy finally said, settling on a simple answer. It wasn’t exactly the truth, but it wasn’t a lie either. “We need to get—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why </span>
  <em>
    <span>now</span>
  </em>
  <span> though?” she pressed. “If my grandfather wants me at camp so bad, why did he wait thirty years before sending someone to get me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Again, he lied.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>He knew. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He knew it was because she was throwing off the natural balance of the world. He knew it was because Dionysus wanted her close to keep her safe. He knew it was because she was more powerful than she knew.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was tempted to tell her against Dionysus’ wishes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He didn’t though. Betraying gods never ended well.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We need to go,” he said again, glancing out towards the busy freeway they pulled off of. “I don’t know if they’re going to come after us.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clarke’s jaw tightened. She broke eye contact. He could see the anger draining out of her slowly, leaving her defeated and </span>
  <em>
    <span>empty.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He couldn’t imagine what was going on inside her head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m assuming you don’t have any ID,” he stated.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It was in my hotel room.” Clarke pinched the bridge of her nose and blew out a long breath. “Fuck. I left </span>
  <em>
    <span>everything </span>
  </em>
  <span>back there.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Somehow, he didn’t think she was talking merely about her ID.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, that means we can’t fly to New York. We’re going to have to drive.” He’d considered this before he left Fresno just the other day—well, actually, the other </span>
  <em>
    <span>week </span>
  </em>
  <span>now. He already had a route planned, just in case. “The drive is forty hours.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clarke scowled and turned away from him. “Fucking fantastic,” she bit. “I’m going to be trapped in this piece of shit car for forty hours with a stranger—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey!” Bellamy took a step closer to her, his eyes narrowed. “Let’s get this straight, Princess. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I </span>
  </em>
  <span>am disrupting </span>
  <em>
    <span>my life </span>
  </em>
  <span>for you. I’m risking </span>
  <em>
    <span>everything </span>
  </em>
  <span>for you. Okay? I didn’t have to come save your ass, but I did it anyways. Do you think I </span>
  <em>
    <span>want </span>
  </em>
  <span>to be in the middle of fucking Nevada? </span>
  <em>
    <span>No! </span>
  </em>
  <span>Do you think I </span>
  <em>
    <span>want </span>
  </em>
  <span>to drive for </span>
  <em>
    <span>eighty hours </span>
  </em>
  <span>there and back, just so I can drop you off at a little camp? Absolutely </span>
  <em>
    <span>fucking </span>
  </em>
  <span>not.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then save yourself the agony and drop me off at a bus station,” Clarke said hotly, her gaze snapping back to his. “They do still have those, don’t they? Or has the world gone to complete shit?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, trust me, the world’s gone to complete shit regardless of the buses.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fan-fucking-tastic! Why don’t you do that then if this is such a nightmare for you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Because you’re my responsibility. You’re my</span>
  <em>
    <span> mission.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Her expression flickered too quickly to decipher. She turned her back on him again. When it was clear she wasn’t going to speak, he stepped past her and pulled open the passenger side door again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Get in.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was expecting her to snap back with the fire he was already growing used to. What he </span>
  <em>
    <span>didn’t </span>
  </em>
  <span>expect was for her to actually </span>
  <em>
    <span>listen.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>She climbed into the car, her movements jagged and clumsy, and her expression entirely foriegn to him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She was right earlier—they were just strangers.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Yet, why couldn’t he stop thinking of her?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Even as he pulled back onto the freeway and started east, she was on his mind. He thought back to the Lotus Hotel and how easy it had been to get lost with her. When he’d been with her, it was as easy as breathing. He held her hand because he </span>
  <em>
    <span>wanted </span>
  </em>
  <span>to hold her hand; he danced with her because he wanted to dance </span>
  <em>
    <span>with her; </span>
  </em>
  <span>he kissed her because </span>
  <em>
    <span>he really wanted her.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>(Her. A legacy of Olympus. The Commander of Death.)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The hotel might’ve taken away his memories and his worries, but what he felt inside was not fabricated.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Bellamy was still unbelievably attracted to Clarke.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Except, now it was confusing, because they were both in the real world, and there was unspoken tension, and she was upset, and—</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Fucking hell. </span>
  </em>
  <span>This was what he got for getting involved with the drama of the Greek gods again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As he drove, he kept glancing at her out of the corner of his eye, taking in her ghostly expression and haunted look in her eye. She looked like she was going to get sick, or maybe she was going to turn into dust and float away on the gentlest breeze.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The silence was awkward. Bellamy wasn’t too sure what to say; there were so many problems, he didn’t know where to start.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>‘Sorry that you were trapped in a hotel for thirty years. That’s gotta suck,’ </span>
  </em>
  <span>somehow didn’t seem to cut it. Neither did </span>
  <em>
    <span>‘wow, you have daddy issues too?’</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Except, not daddy issues. Grandfather issues?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The ride was miserable. Minutes passed. Bellamy’s hands grew slick around the steering wheel. He kept glancing at Clarke out of the corner of his eye, and he was growing more concerned.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maybe they were strangers, but he didn’t need to know her to notice the way her eyes glassed over, or the way her chest rose and fell rapidly, or the way her lips were growing pale. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She was still spiralling.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In an effort to distract her, he cleared his throat and spoke. “Uh. So. New York? You ever been?” She didn’t respond for a long moment. “Clarke?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Finally, she drew her eyes to his. She looked inhuman. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Huh?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I asked if you’ve ever been to New York?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her cold gaze remained on him for a beat longer. The headlights of the approaching cars reflected off of them. The white lighting of the freeway sucked the colour from her cheeks and life from her eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She turned back to look out the window, obscuring her expression.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He blew out a long breath.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What about Vegas? A frequent spot to come to?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His jaw tightened.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She wasn’t giving him much to work with here.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fine. If she wanted to sit in silence, that was fine by him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Time ticked by slowly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bellamy wasn’t sure if it was the whiplash from leaving a building where time sped by, or if this car ride was really just this painful, but he swore, the glowing numbers on the dash rarely changed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Cars whizzed by.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His head throbbed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Every so often, he’d glance at Clarke, trying his best to gauge her, but he had a better chance at guessing what Zeus was up to than trying to figure her out. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A quarter of an hour had passed by the time a set of Golden Arches caught his eye. The sight of them made him realize just how little food he ate at the hotel.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maybe a burger at midnight was exactly what he needed to wrap up this shitshow of a day.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He glanced at Clarke, who was pointedly ignoring his gaze. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you want McDonald’s?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Somehow, sitting alone with Clarke in his car without the distraction of driving was even more painfully awkward. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bellamy shoved a few fries in his mouth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was when she was pulling out her food from the bright red Happy Meal box from him that she spoke. “Thanks.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s just nuggets. No big deal.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her eyes flashed to his briefly. They were so layered that he had a hard time looking away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She cleared her throat. “I mean. Thank you… for keeping me alive.” He said nothing. “You were right. You </span>
  <em>
    <span>are </span>
  </em>
  <span>risking everything for this mission—</span>
  <em>
    <span>for me. </span>
  </em>
  <span>I didn’t ask you to do that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dionysus did.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He regretted how bitter he sounded as soon as he said it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You could’ve died back there,” she said evenly, “or you could’ve been trapped there for decades, just like I was. He shouldn’t have asked you to do that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” he agreed. “He shouldn’t have.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And I just—” Clarke shifted and blew out a long breath. “I’m sorry. About earlier.” She picked at the corner of the Happy Meal box, her brows pushed together. “For calling your car shitty.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bellamy decided to pick his words carefully. “It’s probably in your best interest to treat the car with a little more respect. She’s what’s going to be bringing you across the country.” Her smile was clearly forced. “I’m sorry too, for the record. About… everything.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>This was awkward.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Listen, Clarke. Back at the hotel—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t really want to talk about the hotel,” she said quickly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m just trying to say sorry. That’s all. Things are awkward and weird and I just— we should start on the right foot. We’re going to be spending a lot of time together this week, so—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s fine,” she insisted. “Nothing happened anyway.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She was right.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nothing happened.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Nothing happened, yet he couldn’t stop thinking about her body against his, and her lips on his neck, and the way her laugh made his heart race.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, but—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can we not do this? I know where you stand. I agree—it was a mistake.” Her expression didn’t waver. Bellamy’s stomach dropped. “I get it. I’m your </span>
  <em>
    <span>mission. </span>
  </em>
  <span>The mission was to get close to me and you succeeded. End of story.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Clarke—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“End of story,” she repeated, firmer this time. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He didn’t argue.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The silence was thicker now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bellamy watched as she pulled out the tiny toy from the Happy Meal box. He wrinkled his nose at how ugly it was. It looked like a potato with googly eyes wearing a cowboy hat. It was disturbing, yet Clarke held it with a type of… tenderness. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>That was it. He gave up. He’d never understand her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They both tried to look anywhere but at each other as they ate. The tension only eased when they started driving again—or, maybe, Bellamy was merely distracted from it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bellamy wasn’t sure how he was going to survive the whole drive with her. It was just so </span>
  <em>
    <span>uncomfortable. </span>
  </em>
  <span>The air was thick and heavy and—</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fuck. Dionysus was not paying him enough for this. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>In fact, he wasn’t paying him at all.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He quickly did a few estimations in his head. If he managed to drive eight hours a day, he’d be able to make it to Camp Half-Blood in five days. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He had five days of this shit. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Five. Fucking. Days.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clarke fell asleep hours later, sometime after the roads turned bare, but before they crossed the Nevada state line. Her head was pressed against the window, her breath continuously fogging up the glass, and her arms hugged her middle. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She looked cold.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bellamy reached forward and turned off the AC, despite being in the middle of the fucking desert. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He studied her for a beat longer, watching as the tension left her body. His floral shirt was still wrapped around her shoulders and she burrowed into it, as if the thin material made for the hot summers was going to protect her from the reality they found themselves in.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He found himself wishing that </span>
  <em>
    <span>he </span>
  </em>
  <span>could do </span>
  <em>
    <span>something </span>
  </em>
  <span>to protect her from the world around them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bellamy’s jaw clenched. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He looked away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was when Bellamy started considering the ugly toy from the Happy Meal resting on Clarke’s lap </span>
  <em>
    <span>sort of cute </span>
  </em>
  <span>that he decided they needed to pull over and he needed to sleep. At that point, the sun was breaking the horizon, his vision was blurred, and his eyes were heavy. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The break from the steady speed of the car must’ve woke her up, because she was rubbing her forehead tiredly as he pulled into the truck stop. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What— What's going on?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’re sleeping for a few hours.” He studied the way her neck was bent oddly and how her legs looked uncomfortable curled up on the seat under her. “You want to take the backseat?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She made a sound that he took as a ‘no’ before falling back to her original position—forehead against glass, feet tucked under legs, hands wrapped around bare arms. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He let his eyes slide closed and allowed himself to take a moment to rest before hauling himself into the back seat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>If this day was any indication, this trip was not going to be easy.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Just some further context on some of the canon details used in this chapter, just in case you were confused by anything! Camp Half-Blood is the place where descendants of the gods go to train. When they first arrive, they're placed in the Hermes Cabin. This is because they don't know who their true godly parent is. Sometimes, children are claimed by their parent (then they move to the correct cabin). Sometimes, children are never claimed (and they stay in the Hermes Cabin forever). Both Bellamy and Octavia were never claimed, so they stayed in the Hermes Cabin. They are not children of Hermes. I hope that makes sense :)</p><p>Comments and kudos are, as always, so appreciated!</p><p>Come say hi on <a href="https://pawprinterfanfic.tumblr.com/"> Tumblr!</a></p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Clarke Never Said That. Dionysus Is Her Friend.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Clarke was pulled from sleep slowly, lingering in the state of bliss for several minutes. She was faintly aware of her surroundings; the soft breeze blowing her hair around her face, the distant sound of music, the growing ache in her neck—yet, it all felt so far away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>What made it blissful was the fact that she couldn’t remember anything. She didn’t remember arguing with Bellamy; didn’t remember the suffocating emotions that hit her as soon as she left the hotel; didn’t think about Josephine or the Lotus Hotel or Vegas; didn’t remember that she’d missed thirty years of her life.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She almost wished that she could stay like this forever. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Unaware. Unchanging. Blissfully ignorant.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>It didn’t last for long.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Clarke became increasingly aware of the kink in her neck and the strain down her back. And, as soon as she noticed that, it was nearly impossible to ignore the way the beam of sunlight hit her face, and how unmistakably different everything felt.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The first thing she saw was </span>
  <em>
    <span>him.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Bellamy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her apparent knight in shining armour. The man that she’s picked out of a crowd, looked at his dreamy eyes, and almost fell into bed with. The same man who, apparently, was her grandfather’s best pal, which was all kinds of weird. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was so much to unpack with him that she didn’t even bother.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was sitting in the driver's seat of the car, his head angled so his hair fell over his eyes, and staring at something in his lap. Clarke realized that whatever it was played music, which explained the soft tune playing as she woke. From what she could tell, he’s been awake for a while. Or, at least long enough to become completely absorbed with his task.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He must’ve noticed she was awake by the shuffle of her body against the cloth seat. His head snapped to hers and their gazed locked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh. You’re up.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m up.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A brief, painfully awkward pause.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He cleared his throat and shoved the small black square between his legs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I mean… Good morning. Or…” He squinted at the dash of his car, where a small screen displayed the time. Clarke’s gaze lingered on it. “Good afternoon.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She was too preoccupied by the screen to make any comments about the time. It looked like a miniature television embedded into the dash of the car, right where a radio should’ve gone. Except, it was flatter than any television she’d seen, and crisper.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bellamy was oblivious to her confusion.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I was going to start driving a while ago, but you didn’t have your seatbelt on and I didn’t want to wake you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He played the act of a gentleman well when he wanted to, she’d give him that. But his words from the previous night burned brightly across her mind.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>She was just his mission, just another one of his many responsibilities, just a job from the gods. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Clarke rubbed at her face, trying to fight off the cobwebs that still tangled her mind. When she pulled her hand back and saw the black smear across her knuckles, she realized she was wearing makeup. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fuck.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I need to wash up,” she said, her voice cracking with sleep. “I look like a fucking mess.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Pointedly, she avoided his gaze as he studied her. Fuck him and his pretty eyes and his pretty face and his pretty mouth and—</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Ugh.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good call.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nice. Thanks.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m just agreeing with you. I’m missing something here. Did you… want me to tell you that you’re wrong?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, but—“ Clarke sighed. “Just never mind. Where can I shower?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry to break it to you, but </span>
  <em>
    <span>Hotel Toyota</span>
  </em>
  <span> doesn’t come with showers or a bathroom.” Bellamy picked up the small black block from earlier. The screen came to life with the simple press of a button. His thumbs flew across the screen before he paused. “Alright, so, it looks like there’s a hotel that charges by the hour a few miles up from here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I was thinking a bus terminal could suffice.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s with you and buses, Princess?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s with you and that gods awful nickname?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right. Clarke. Your name is Clarke.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He swept his finger across the screen and— </span>
  <em>
    <span>holy shit, the screen moved to his touch. </span>
  </em>
  <span>It looked like something straight out of a futuristic movie.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It hadn’t fully registered yet that she was truly living in one of those futuristic movies. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, Clarke, hourly hotel—yes or no? I vote yes because I technically haven’t showered in two weeks.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The corners of her lips quirked up. “Better than my thirty-two years.” She moved to put her seatbelt on. “The hotel sounds good to me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>If anything, it was comforting to know that some motels hadn’t been upgraded in the last thirty years.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The hourly motel Bellamy had found was just as he said; up the freeway a few miles and down a long, winding road. The set-up briefly reminded Clarke of </span>
  <em>
    <span>Psycho, </span>
  </em>
  <span>but she wasn’t going to voice those thoughts out loud. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Renting the hotel room had been an adventure she wasn’t eager to go on again. The woman behind the counter eyed both of them with a knowing smile. Bellamy wasn’t oblivious to her gaze either; his shoulders were stiff and his posture rigid as he handed over a few twenties. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The funny thing was, if this had been not even twenty four hours earlier, the woman’s assumptions about them might’ve been true. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The hotel room didn’t exceed expectations. There was a single bed in the centre of the room, a horrid purple duvet over top that matched the thick curtains, a small wooden table in the corner of the room, and a framed picture of the Eiffel Tower on the opposite wall. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bellamy dropped his two bags onto the bed. “Wow. Shitty.” He pointed to the picture. “What aesthetic are they going for with this?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The smile that came to her was easier than she expected it would be. She toed the edge of the purple blanket draped on the floor. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Cute. I think I owned this exact spread.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Looks like it’s straight out of the eighties.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hm. Well, guess that would match up.” Bellamy’s lips pressed together and an awkwardness settled in. “You should shower first.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What? Don’t enjoy the scent of the blood of our enemies?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not particularly.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bellamy grinned to himself. “Fair.” He reached into the backpack on the bed and riffled through it before pulling out a set of clothes and a toiletries bag. As he made his way to the washroom, he pointed at the bags on the bed. “Uh. Feel free to dig through that. You’ll probably have to wear something of mine. Again. Well. Not </span>
  <em>
    <span>probably. </span>
  </em>
  <span>You </span>
  <em>
    <span>will </span>
  </em>
  <span>have to wear something of mine.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?” Clarke questioned. “No sisters to borrow clothing from?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’d disappeared from view at that point, but she could </span>
  <em>
    <span>hear </span>
  </em>
  <span>the pause in his step. Then, finally, “uh. No. No sisters.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The door clicked shut.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clarke was alone in the oddly homey hotel room. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She thought about how the conversation with Bellamy went better than she’d expected as she made a slow circle around the room. They hadn’t tried to bite each other’s heads off and didn’t drown in the tension, so that was progress. In fact, the quick banter back and forth had almost been pleasant.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The shower clicked on. Clarke sat on the edge of the bed, her eyes sweeping across the room. If she didn’t know any better, she would’ve assumed that no time had passed at all. The wallpaper, the pattern of the carpet, the colours of the duvet—it was all a distant echo of home. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But she did know better. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She’d been asleep for thirty-two years. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clarke let her eyes slide shut as this thought overwhelmed her. She could feel it wash across her body, twisting her stomach, and scorching her veins, and striking an ache in her soul. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Three decades was a long time. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was a long time, yet it felt like </span>
  <em>
    <span>weeks </span>
  </em>
  <span>to Clarke. Her dad died thirty-three years ago, but the pain of losing him was still so fresh. And her mom—</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Her mom. </span>
  </em>
  <span>The last time she saw her was thirty-two years ago. They’d fought about selling the company and moving to New York or Florida or anywhere other than home. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clarke had been desperate to stay. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her mother had been desperate to flee. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Instead, Clarke was the one to flee. She’d turned away and retreated to Vegas to give both of them time to cool down and think clearly.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>It wasn’t supposed to be like this. </span>
  </em>
  <span>She never wanted it to be like that—she never wanted to get up and leave forever. She just needed </span>
  <em>
    <span>time </span>
  </em>
  <span>and she needed </span>
  <em>
    <span>space </span>
  </em>
  <span>and—</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was supposed to be two weeks. It was supposed to be two weeks, not thirty-two years. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A loud clang came from the bathroom from where Clarke imagined Bellamy dropping a shampoo bottle. Her eyes jolted open at the sound, but it did nothing to erase the heaviness to her heart and the burdens on her shoulders and—</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She needed a distraction.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Determined not to think about it, Clarke turned to Bellamy’s bags on the bed behind her. One was a simple backpack and the other was a large duffle bag. Clothing spilled from the backpack from when he’d grabbed his own change of clothes, and her hands were drawn to it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She shifted through a few items. They were all soft against her fingers, but the styles still felt like costumes. He was right earlier; the only clothing he owned was men’s and a few sizes too big on her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When Bellamy found her, she was elbow deep in the duffel bag. He was changed into a fresh shirt and pair of pants, and a towel draped around his neck to catch the droplets of water running down his soaked hair and across his skin. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clarke’s had to forcibly move her gaze off of him. She picked up a metal-tipped arrow from the duffel bag, pulling it from its home amongst the handful of weapons inside. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I hope you didn’t bring this all this way just for me,” she commented. “I’m not really an archery lover.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bellamy padded across the room and Clarke watched him out of the corner of her eye. It was a completely innocent gaze, of course, with the only purpose of connecting with him through conversation.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Of course.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, actually.” He pulled out another arrow from the bag, his shoulder nearly brushing against hers. “I, uh… I didn’t know you were a descendant of Apollo before. I’m an archer.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah.” She placed their arrow back into his bag. “I should’ve expected as much. You have good aim.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You do too.” Bellamy shifted awkwardly before deciding to sit down. “What you did back in Vegas was—</span>
  <em>
    <span>is—</span>
  </em>
  <span>impressive. You took down </span>
  <em>
    <span>dozens </span>
  </em>
  <span>of lotus-eaters with a tranquilizer gun.” He leaned back on his hands, the position somehow making him look even more like the Greek hero he was. “You have the blood of Apollo, yet you’re not an archer.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She couldn’t decide if that was a question or a statement.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My mother is the daughter of Apollo. She could see I had a talent for archery when I was really young and did everything to get me into it. She tried to reach me herself, and, when that didn't work, she paid for private lessons.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Clearly you’re not lacking in talent.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I didn’t stop archery because I wasn’t good at it. I stopped because I didn’t want to just be </span>
  <em>
    <span>Clarke Griffin, descendant of Apollo. </span>
  </em>
  <span>My mom was so obsessed with legacies and she was so set on me being </span>
  <em>
    <span>just like her</span>
  </em>
  <span>—I couldn’t do it. This was my one piece of rebellion.” She picked up a sheathed sword from the bag, turning it over in her hands a few times. “I put in the time and hard work to learn </span>
  <em>
    <span>this. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Maybe it didn’t call to me like the bow did, but this was </span>
  <em>
    <span>me. </span>
  </em>
  <span>This was something </span>
  <em>
    <span>I </span>
  </em>
  <span>could do that was different from the gods. My mom hated it. She never understood why I wouldn’t just want to follow in her footsteps.” She smiled softly. “Archery came easily to me anyways—it wasn’t fun.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bellamy’s smile was more genuine than it had been all day. “And that’s why I liked archery. It was easy and natural. Finally, for the first time in my life, it didn’t feel like I was fighting against my instincts.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She realized just how much she didn’t know about Bellamy. They’d been with each other for close to twenty four hours at that point and survived several attempts on their lives, but she barely knew him past the surface level.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So, what?” Clarke pressed, her voice teasing. “Should I call you Uncle Bellamy?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The smile was wiped from his face. He pushed up from his relaxed stance. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clarke had to admit. Maybe that wasn’t the best thing she had said in her life. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I just… you know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I do not know. Please enlighten me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clarke gestured to the arrow sticking up from the bag. “You're a child of Apollo, just like my mom. That would make you her half-brother, which would make you my—“</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Gods. Clarke. Please stop talking.” He looked like he was physically going to get sick. “I can promise you that we’re not related, okay? I’m nobody’s uncle.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clarke fell silent. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Well. That was awkward. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I just assumed because of the archery and stuff. Apollo’s the god of archery.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bellamy’s nose wrinkled. He attempted to ease back onto the bed, but she could see the tension in his shoulders. “Yeah, well… I’m not the son of Apollo. I’m just good at archery.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The only other god that Clarke could think of that was talented at archery was Artemis, and she didn’t have any children. She wondered who his godly parent was. She knew enough about Greek mythology from her parents to make a few good guesses—Ares, maybe? He had the strength and affinity for battle for that to make sense. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Besides, if I was the son of Apollo—” He cut off abruptly. “...I … would… be good at art and music and shit.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Somehow, she doubted that was what he planned to say in the beginning. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clarke dropped the topic. They were strangers, and strangers didn’t get the right to ask questions about something that was clearly bothering the other.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Art and music—</span>
  <em>
    <span>those </span>
  </em>
  <span>were the only two things of Apollo’s that I claimed, and mostly because my mother hated them. She was all about medicine and archery though.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A thought made her heart plummet. Her easy smile slipped.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?” he pressed. His eyes darted along her expression. “What’s wrong?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nothing. I just… I just realized how different things are.” Her throat grew impossibly tight. “The music I know must be so outdated now… And the </span>
  <em>
    <span>movies. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Please tell me you still have </span>
  <em>
    <span>Star Wars?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>It was a trilogy that she watched with her father. They loved it; the epic tales of journeying across the stars, the battles with swords of light, and the themes of relationships binding people together, regardless of blood.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Plus, Han, Leia and Luke were hot. Like… </span>
  <em>
    <span>really </span>
  </em>
  <span>hot. She’d be lying if she said she wasn’t equally in love with Princess Leia and Han Solo.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I have good and bad news for you, Princess; there have been eight new </span>
  <em>
    <span>Star Wars</span>
  </em>
  <span> movies released since the last time you’ve been in the realm of the living.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The Brat Pack?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Broken up.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Molly Ringwald? She’s still acting?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can confirm she’s still around. Can also confirm that </span>
  <em>
    <span>The Kissing Booth </span>
  </em>
  <span>is </span>
  <em>
    <span>not </span>
  </em>
  <span>that great despite the hype it gets online. I mean… the guy has anger issues.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is Tom Cruise still hot?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Objectively.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How’s Bon Jovi?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Still an icon.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Winona Ryder?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“On Netflix.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What the fuck is a Netflix?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s like Blockbuster, but better.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clarke laughed. “I don’t think anything can be better than Blockbuster, Blake, but we'll see.” Her grin slipped. “Gods, I missed so much.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bellamy grew hesitant. “How are you doing with everything?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Honestly, she didn’t know.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So much had changed and she hadn’t had time to process any of it. The pain that echoed through her chest cavity came into focus when she spent too much time </span>
  <em>
    <span>thinking </span>
  </em>
  <span>and she didn’t want to do that—not yet, not when she knew she was going to fall apart if she started thinking of it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>No. No, she couldn’t. She’d survive this first, then fall apart. She’d get to camp and reconnect with her family, </span>
  <em>
    <span>and then she’d fall apart.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>She couldn’t do that now, not when she was travelling across the country with someone she didn’t even know</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Better,” she answered. She tried to convince herself that she was telling the truth — that she’d gotten over most of her shock and she was doing </span>
  <em>
    <span>better. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Not good, but better. She almost believed it. “Better than last night at least.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s good.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He didn’t believe her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>To prove him wrong, she scrounged for something to say. “This motel makes it easier. Less flashing lights and screens and flying cars.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bellamy’s lips quirked up. “We don’t have flying cars.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Still.” Clarke nudged the edge of the bed with her knee. “This makes me feel at home.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He seemed to debate something with himself before speaking again. “Well, we’ll stay at more places like this if that’s what makes you feel better.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For a second, Clarke forgot who he was and her heart warmed from the tender gesture. “I don’t want that. I want to learn about the world—the </span>
  <em>
    <span>current </span>
  </em>
  <span>world. I…” Her heart gave a painful tug. “I can’t go </span>
  <em>
    <span>back </span>
  </em>
  <span>to where I came from. Even if the world’s as shitty as you claim, I can’t go back to what it was before. I have to learn how to live here now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And, while she didn’t exactly believe what she was saying, it was the goal and it was reality.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>This was her reality now.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“I need to Iris Message Dionysus,” Bellamy said when there was a lull. He stretched over to riffle through his backpack, pulling out a couple of golden coins. She studied the coins in his palm.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I didn’t expect the currency to change,” she pointed out, leaning closer. “In the eighties, we used—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, no.” Bellamy reached into his backpack again, pulling out the green bills she was more familiar with. “This is the money used in the mortal world. Well, </span>
  <em>
    <span>kind of. </span>
  </em>
  <span>People use debit and credit cards more than cash, and there’s this whole new thing with e-transfers and Apple Pay and— it’s confusing. I live full-time in 2019 and I’m still confused.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good to know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He lifted the gold coins again. “These are drachma, the currency of the gods. It’s what was used in Ancient Greece, and it sort of stuck for us descendants. You’ve never seen this before?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She noted that Bellamy’s face wasn’t snarky like she expected it to be; instead, he looked simply curious. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No.” She took one of the coins, their skin making the briefest contact. “I grew up separate from your world.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You said you’re trained with a sword though? But you never went to camp?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She wet her lips and debated on the easiest way to explain her life to him. Despite not knowing Bellamy well, she knew they came from different worlds. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m a </span>
  <em>
    <span>legacy, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Bellamy, not a </span>
  <em>
    <span>demigod. </span>
  </em>
  <span>I wasn’t allowed to attend Camp Half-Blood.” The memory felt like acid in her mouth. “It was Dionysus who told my parents this, even though they both attended for </span>
  <em>
    <span>years. </span>
  </em>
  <span>I wasn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>godly </span>
  </em>
  <span>enough for them. So, I trained with my parents and private tutors; none of them were demigods, all just regular mortals.” She gave him the coin back. “I might have the blood of Olympus like you said, but I belong to the mortal world. The gods ensured that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bellamy was silent for a beat, his head tilted to the side enough for his hair to sweep across his forehead. He masterfully twirled the coin in his fingers, his eyes locked on the task as he spoke. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The gods seem to be good at driving people into the mortal world.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She could hear darker notes to his voice and, once again, she was reminded that she knew nothing about the man in front of her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Your grandfather forced you to live a mortal life too?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“More like </span>
  <em>
    <span>your </span>
  </em>
  <span>grandfather.” There was no hint of malice to his words, at least, none directed at her. “I used to go to camp, but… it didn’t work out.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His eyes snapped to hers when she let out a tiny laugh. It was the most unguarded that she’d seen him yet, with his eyes wide and his cheeks flushed and—</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sounds like you’re talking about a job at a law firm, not a place of ‘safety and tranquility’ that my father always talked about.” She sat down on the edge of the bed, her body angled towards him still. “Dionysus pushed you away too?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Among others.” He looked away from her, flipped the coin a few times, and let it fall to the bed. His gaze looked far away, like he was trapped in a thought or, more accurately, a memory. She knew from experience. “I belong to the mortal world, just like you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Something wasn’t adding up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But he got you to do this quest for him?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s complicated.” Before she could question him more, he was pushing up from the bed with the coins in hand. “I’m going to Iris Message him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clarke learned that Iris Messages were used to communicate by demigods. One only had to throw a drachma into a mist of water, spoke a phrase, and the shimmering image of whoever they were trying to contact would appear. It was more convenient than phones, but much cheaper than the cellular. She could get behind </span>
  <em>
    <span>this </span>
  </em>
  <span>aspect of living as a demigod. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clarke sat on the bed, straining to hear the conversation between Bellamy and Dionysus in the bathroom. The words were distorted by the running shower and softened by the closed door, but, every so often, she’d make something out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“—lotus-eaters! I could have—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“—my boy. What some campers remember about you wasn’t warped with time! You—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“—thirty-two years, Dionysus. Three fucking decades—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“—I know—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“—Wanheda—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“—powers—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“—liar—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“—safety—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“—I don’t care—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was a long pause where she couldn’t hear anything apart from the rumble of low voices. Clarke couldn’t take it. She padded across the room, her footfalls dampened from years of training, and stood outside the bathroom door with baited breath.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“—I’m going to need more details, Dionysus. You said </span>
  <em>
    <span>monsters </span>
  </em>
  <span>before. Plural. You know something you’re not telling me!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I told you before, Block, she’s in danger. It’s your job to protect her—</span>
  <em>
    <span>that’s what we agreed on. </span>
  </em>
  <span>You get her, you bring her here. You dust your hands off, call it a day, and disappear back to whatever corner of California you came from, the end.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You </span>
  <em>
    <span>lied </span>
  </em>
  <span>to me!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I didn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>lie, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Barry, I just didn’t tell you the </span>
  <em>
    <span>truth. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Some mystery needs to be maintained. You mortals can’t handle all of the information—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Screw that. Tell me what I’m up against so I can do my fucking job!” There was a long beat of silence. Through the door, she could hear Bellamy’s heavy breathing. “The lotus-eaters were just the start, weren’t they? There’s more monsters out there coming for us?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Another long beat of silence.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Put her on.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, put her on. I want to talk to her. Clarke’s my </span>
  <em>
    <span>blood—”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>She’d already sprinted back to the bed, her heart pounding and mind spinning.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bellamy sounded </span>
  <em>
    <span>angry. </span>
  </em>
  <span>That didn’t align with him being friends with her grandfather like she expected. It aligned with one of his offhand comments from earlier though, when he said that it was Dionysus who sent him into the mortal world.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was clear now more than ever; Bellamy did not like Dionysus. From what she could judge from the Iris Message, Dionysus didn’t like him either.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Then why was Bellamy on a special quest for the god?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He said it was complicated, but what was so complicated about it? What reason could there possibly be to convince Bellamy to take a quest from someone he hated?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She tried to keep her expression neutral when the bathroom door opened and Bellamy walked out. If she wasn’t any wiser, she would’ve assumed the conversation was going well; there wasn’t a single sign from his appearance that would suggest differently.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dionysus was hoping to talk to you,” he said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He worded it as if she had a choice. Neither of them really had much say in anything to do with him, an immortal god.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When she approached the bathroom, he had a few words of advice. “It works just like Skype. Just look into the mist and he’ll see you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I hope you know I don’t have a clue what Skype is.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right.” He pressed his lips together in thought. “Just pretend you’re talking to him in person then, okay? Except you’re looking into a cloud of mist and communicating through a rainbow.” He stepped out of the doorway, crowding her for an instant, before rapidly putting distance between them by walking backwards towards the front door. “I’m going to rent another hour. This is taking longer than I thought.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She wasn’t sure why she was suddenly nervous, but— yep, there it was. Her heart pounded. Her palms turned clammy. The idea of Bellamy not being in the next room while she met her grandfather made her stomach twist, but—</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Wasn’t Bellamy just a stranger too?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>She chalked it up to the fact that he’d saved her life a handful of times already, just as she did with him. Maybe she barely knew the guy, but she knew that she could trust him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dionysus, on the other hand, was the complete opposite.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Still, she didn’t say anything, and the hotel door clicked shut behind him as he left. She tried to push down the ball of nerves sitting heavily in her stomach and tried to keep her hands from shaking at her side.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Clarke?”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>He reminded her of her father.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>She was hit with the strongest sense of grief when she first spotted the god through the Iris Message. Dionysus was beaming widely at her and it was the first thing of her father’s that she recognized.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>They had the same smile.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>And the hair… they had the same hair. Dionysus’ was less grey-streaked, most likely a perk of immortality, but it had the same thick wave to it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And the eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>The eyes were what really threw her.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>While growing up, she always questioned whether or not she was truly related to Dionysus. All of her abilities—her affinity for archery, her love of music, her appreciation for the arts—they were all tied back to Apollo. Meanwhile, nothing tied back to Dionysus.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Seeing his eyes erased all those doubts. </span>
  <em>
    <span>They were an exact replica of her eyes.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>It was a reminder that she was just as closely related to the god of sunlight and healing and archery as she was to the god of wine and madness. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There she is!” Dionysus greeted as soon as she entered the bathroom. He leaned forward, his eyes bright and his teeth flashing. “Hello, Clarke! It’s nice to finally meet you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She couldn’t find any words.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The last time I saw you, you were barely standing!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her heart pressed against her chest from how hard it was beating. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’ve met before?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He looked confused. “... yes?” His expression shifted. “Oh, that’s right. Mortals have mush for minds. I forgot you humans have… </span>
  <em>
    <span>memory </span>
  </em>
  <span>problems.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She wanted to snap at him. She wanted to tell him that she was experiencing memory problems right now; she wanted to tell him that her memories had been stripped away for </span>
  <em>
    <span>thirty years.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Her mouth refused to work. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Regardless, you’re bigger now. Older. Stronger, apparently. Or so our friendly giant tells me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Friendly giant?” She racked her brain to figure out what he was talking about. “You mean Bellamy?” He wasn’t above average height though, so it couldn’t be—</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Block. Barry. Bellamy? Doesn’t matter.” He waved his hand in dismissal. “How are you? I heard there was a little skirmish on your way out of Vegas.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We almost died,” Clarke snapped. The anger bubbling in her was quickly manifesting and doubling. “We almost got stuck in that place forever!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But you didn’t, and that’s the important part. No harm, no foul, right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>That </span>
  </em>
  <span>broke her restraint. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No harm? </span>
  <em>
    <span>No harm?” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Her nails bit into the palms of her hand, drawing blood. Her heart pounded against her chest as rage and injustice and grief ran through her. It was the ferocity of her emotions that allowed her to speak past the shock. “I was trapped in that hotel for over thirty years!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A sliver of time.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not for me! Not for mortals!” Clarke choked on her laugh. “I lost my whole life because of that hotel! I— I was supposed to be in Vegas for two weeks, not half a lifetime.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dionysus didn’t look phased. “You retained your youth! You didn’t age! Consider it a long nap, Clarke. Or, even better; consider it a dollop of immortality.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She could barely see straight. Her hands shook at her side, but for a different reason than before. Clarke was </span>
  <em>
    <span>angry. </span>
  </em>
  <span>She was beyond that, really. She was </span>
  <em>
    <span>pissed. Fuming. Burning. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t want immortality,” she hissed, “I want my life back!” Thoughts she was suppressing came snapping back. With each passing second, it was harder to keep her voice from shaking. ”I— I was supposed to go to school in the fall. I was supposed to spend the summer on the lake with my mother and my friends and— and now I don’t know if they’re—” Her mind reeled with horror as she thought of the mortality of her </span>
  <em>
    <span>very</span>
  </em>
  <span> human friends. ”And </span>
  <em>
    <span>you knew </span>
  </em>
  <span>where I was. You knew and you didn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>do anything about it, </span>
  </em>
  <span>just like you did nothing for my father. My father died and you did nothing. Your son </span>
  <em>
    <span>died.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>And that was really the crux of the matter, wasn't it?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The gods had long abandoned her and her family; this wasn’t the first time the Griffins were forgotten. The anger she was feeling now had been bubbling under the surface of her skin for years.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why?” she asked, her voice low. ”Why come for me now?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her grandfather stared at her for a long moment, his expression unchanging. She didn’t know him well enough to know what he was thinking or feeling.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>But, </span>
  </em>
  <span>in that moment, it didn’t matter. She felt dark, and strong, and powerful, and—</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I lost a son,” Dionysus finally said, his voice breaking her away from the tide of darkness that washed across her. She blinked at his words. “I had five children over the last fifty years, three of which are dead. One died a few decades ago. Then, your father. And, just a year ago, one of my other sons.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And, yes, she didn’t know him, but the expression of grief was fairly universal. His voice turned thick. His jaw grew tight. His eyes grew even more bloodshot than before.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He was a </span>
  <em>
    <span>child, </span>
  </em>
  <span>younger than you,” he continued. “I understand what it’s like to lose family, and that’s why I sent Block—Bellamy, I mean—to come get you. You’re one of the very few out in the world that have my blood. You’re one of </span>
  <em>
    <span>three, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Clarke.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You didn’t care about blood when I was a child,” she accused, clinging to bitterness.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The memories of her parents arguing about what they were going to do with her now that the camp wouldn’t take her we’re still fresh in her mind, as were the memories of them trying to hide their worries when she’d walk in the room. Dionysus was the cause of that. He was the reason she hadn’t been allowed to attend camp.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And, Clarke hated to think about it, but she knew her life would be different if he hadn’t made that decision. If he welcomed her to camp like her parents hoped, things would’ve been different. Maybe it wouldn’t have stopped all the horrible things from happening, like when her dad died when she was only twenty-one, but it would’ve stopped her from getting trapped in a time vortex hotel and missing half of her life. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Listen,” he said slowly,” Clarke… I don’t make those rules. The rules of Camp Half-Blood are older than the country you call home. Those rules said only the </span>
  <em>
    <span>children</span>
  </em>
  <span> of the gods could attend. There was nothing I could do about it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She wasn’t twelve anymore, but those words still stung. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She was never enough for the gods, was she?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And what about now? Suddenly, they’re different? Suddenly, I’m allowed to attend?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His smile was warm. It made her think of all the grandfathers she saw on television and in the movies when she was growing up; wise, and warm, and welcoming. It was something she never had as a kid. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clarke really hated to admit it, but it made her chest grow tight with want that she didn’t know she had. Foreign emotions rose up in her.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Maybe this was a chance at gaining something she never had before.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>She tried to ignore the flickers of hope. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know you’re trying to be sarcastic, kid, but yes. When you get to camp, you’ll be welcomed with open arms.” Dionysus paused. His expression remained stony as he mulled over his thoughts. “A demigod convinced Zeus to change the rules recently; claim kids earlier, build more cabins at camp, and welcome more descendants to camp. That includes you.” She didn’t respond for a long moment, her throat too tight and the fire of hope burning too brightly to do so. “Come on, kid. Can’t you see it? Can’t you see yourself at camp; finally, somewhere you belong?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” she answered, her voice wavering. It was getting so hard to hang onto this hot and burning anger. She could feel sadness cresting. Her eyes stung with tears. Her throat ached. “No, I </span>
  <em>
    <span>can’t. </span>
  </em>
  <span>I spent my whole childhood thinking I’d be able to attend your camp, just for you to tell me that I couldn’t.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She’d been crushed. She cried for days. And, what? He expected to let go of all their past hurts, just like that?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know… your father was a good man.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before she could lash out at him and tell him not to speak about her dad, she froze and caught sight of the way his whole body seemed to contort with grief.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That made her stop.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The day that Jake died, you didn’t just lose a father; I lost a son.” She could see it in his eyes, the way that his death haunted him. She swallowed thickly. “He was a good camper, Clarke. I remember a lot about him. He was a quick learner. Good in the strawberry grove and in the forges; he spent a lot of time with children of Demeter and Hephaestus. Although, he was </span>
  <em>
    <span>my son, </span>
  </em>
  <span>which meant he wasn’t as skilled as those other demigods. He’d oftentimes find himself in the infirmary after an accident in the forges. That was where he met your mom.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clarke’s chest tightened even more with that. She knew they met each other at camp, but she never learned the details. And hearing them—hearing stories about her parents from someone who </span>
  <em>
    <span>knew them</span>
  </em>
  <span>— that was something she never experienced. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The last time I spoke to your father, you must’ve been fifteen, maybe older, I don’t know. I’m not the god of time. But he was adamant for me to change my mind, to let you in.” His smile was wistful. “He really wanted his only daughter to attend Camp Half-Blood.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She could almost hear what he was implying. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Don’t let your past and your hurt ruin that.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Yet…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You… you talked to my dad?” she asked, her voice shaking. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She didn’t know that. He never told her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Frequently. Or, as frequently as I could manage.” He sighed. “The eighties were simpler times for us gods; less rules from dearest daddy, less Titan uprisings, more leopard print and Pac-Man. I could talk to my children as often as I wanted. It’s more complicated now.” He waved his hand in dismissal. “But, yes, I spoke to your father. I </span>
  <em>
    <span>cared </span>
  </em>
  <span>about him; probably more than Zeus claims I should. I’ve always cared about family.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She realized what she said too late to stop it. For a brief moment, she was sure she was going to get mauled by a leopard as punishment, but—</span>
</p><p>
  <span>No. Dionysus still looked exactly how she imagined a kind grandfather would. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I cared about you, Clarke, even when I couldn’t let you in camp. I even imbued the land you grew up on!” She didn’t know this either. All the things she didn’t know was quickly making her spiral. “It was why your family’s wine business prospered. It was why monsters stayed away. After all, your family property was a place with </span>
  <em>
    <span>three</span>
  </em>
  <span> descendants of the gods. Ever wonder why no monsters attacked?” Her stomach twisted. She never did. She just thought it was because they were so far away from the world of Greek mythology, but, as she was learning, that wasn’t exactly true either. “I was keeping your family safe, even if you didn’t know it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her parents never told her that. Her parents never told her a lot of things apparently. They didn’t tell her that they were in contact with Dionysus. They didn’t tell her that Dionysus had met her before. They didn’t tell her that the family property was </span>
  <em>
    <span>protected </span>
  </em>
  <span>by him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They only ever told her about how dangerous the world of Greek mythology was. They only ever told her of how they were abandoned by the gods.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Suddenly, she didn’t know what to believe. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Besides,” Dionysus continued, “you staying with your parents was safer than coming to camp anyway. I wouldn’t be able to protect you here—not anymore than other campers. You might have been sent on quests and, if you want to know how south those can go, just ask Bellamy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She was too caught up with her inner turmoil to really acknowledge what he said. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The thing was; she </span>
  <em>
    <span>wanted </span>
  </em>
  <span>to believe him. She wanted to trust her grandfather. And, really, did she have any reason not to? He was the one to orchestrate her rescue from Vegas. He had kept her safe as she grew up. He’d been watching over her family for years. Everything she thought she knew about him was wrong.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>But could she trust him?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“I have questions. Lots of them.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Come to camp,” he encouraged. “I’ll answer all your questions then, ‘kay, kid?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before she could stop herself, she forged ahead. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They called me Wanheda,” she said, remembering the way the lotus-eaters hissed that as they chased her. It hasn’t seemed important to her until she heard Bellamy day it while talking to Dionysus earlier. “What does it mean?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His expression didn’t shift. “I have no idea.” He glanced at something she couldn’t see, frowning in the same way her father did. It made her breathing stutter. “I gotta go, Clarke. Apparently an Apollo kid accidentally consumed something </span>
  <em>
    <span>not </span>
  </em>
  <span>fit for consumption.” He stood. “See you in a few days!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then, the mist faded and she was alone again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her thoughts were more crushing than before. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Everything felt so heavy. </span>
  </em>
</p><p><span>She had more questions than answers.</span> <span>And, now more than ever, Clarke wished she could talk to her dad.</span></p><p>
  <span>Why did the life she live conflict so much with what Dionysus claimed? Why did her parents keep so many secrets?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before she could completely drown in questions she’d never have answers for, she shed her clothes and hopped in the shower.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The water helped wash away her pressing fears. For now, that would have to be enough.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Sorry this update is a few days late! I spent the last week writing a fun lil soulmate au/grounder au, so I've been distracted. You can read this fic <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26232355">here</a>! I'm low-key proud of it and excited to share it!</p><p>It’s time for one of my favourite events of the year! The <a href="https://bellarkeficawards.tumblr.com">Bellarke Fic Writer Awards</a> on Tumblr are taking nominations until September 5. I adore this event because it shows love and appreciation to fic writers in the fandom! It’s so special, so be sure to nominate your favourite fics! <strong>Go spread some love and appreciation to your favourite fics!</strong></p><p>Thank you for reading. Comments and kudos are appreciated!</p><p>Paw</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Bellamy Will Never Give Her Up, He Will Never Let Her Down</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This chapter has been WAITING for me to edit it for WEEKS. Sorry it took so long! This final season is... not inspiring, to say the least haha. This chapter was edited very briefly, so please ignore the many mistakes.</p><p>Chapter title is from the song "Never Gonna Give You Up" by Rick Astley.</p><p><strong>Warnings:</strong> this chapter has a discussion about homophobia (context: Clarke's from the 80s and is bisexual, so there's brief mention about that). I've put a little note at the bottom of this chapter if you want more details before you read the chapter.<br/>&amp;If anyone would rather read this chapter without this, feel free to contact me on Twitter or Tumblr (or even in the comments), and I'll find a way to get the chapter to you without this conversation.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>As Bellamy left the motel room, he couldn’t stop thinking of Dionysus’ words—words that had been whispered so low and had tugged his stomach right to his feet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You remember what I told you, right, Blake?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The use of his name—his </span>
  <em>
    <span>real </span>
  </em>
  <span>name, not whatever name Dionysus gave him when he didn’t care enough to remember who he was—told him just how serious he was.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dionysus’ words from that first night were ones Bellamy almost wished had been erased by the lotus-eaters. Unfortunately, they returned mere minutes after leaving Vegas, alongside the rest of his memories.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The god must’ve not been willing to leave these instructions up to Bellamy’s memory. His eyes were filled with flames. Bellamy’s hair stood on ends from the pure power.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Whatever you do, do not tell Griffin about her… gifts.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wet his dry lips. “Gifts?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Her powers.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The supposedly famed powers; the powers that earned her the nickname Wanheda; the powers that nearly got them killed back in Vegas—</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The power to control death.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It still didn’t feel right. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When Dionysus told him this back at his apartment in Fresno, he had snapped at him, anger turning his words to venom. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Let me get this straight,” he had said, “not only do you want me to kidnap her, but you want me to lie to her?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He said an echo of those words today. “You want me to lie to Clarke,” he said, his voice holding less anger than it did before. “You’re a liar, and you want me to become one too—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s for her safety.” He wanted to call bullshit, he really did. Dionysus’ lips curled upwards the slightest bit, as if he could read his mind. “What? You don’t think I’m right? I’m the one in charge here. You’re just the messenger.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right. I’m just the nameless half-blood to do your dirty work.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He ignored him. “I don’t care what you think; she’s dangerous, and her abilities might be triggered by emotion. Telling her about them might </span>
  <em>
    <span>spark </span>
  </em>
  <span>them.” His voice lowered. He could barely hear him over the steady stream of water. “She is preventing monsters, half-bloods and mortals from dying. Things are coming back to life; things that should stay dead. We don’t know if it can work the opposite way.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bellamy processed this information slowly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His stomach twisted. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His chest froze.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You think she’s a killer,” he breathed, realization making his blood turn to ice in his veins. Maybe he should’ve been terrified by this information; after all, he was alone in a hotel room with her. He wasn’t, though. He felt offended on her behalf. “She’s been bringing people back to life and now you’re worried she could </span>
  <em>
    <span>kill people too?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Dionysus didn’t flinch. “We don’t know the limits of her powers.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He recognized the glint in his eyes—it was the same glint that Bellamy saw the evening he was kicked out of camp.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>If anything, it made him grow even more protective of Clarke.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His hands curled into fists at his side.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re scared,” Bellamy accused. The god’s eye twitched. He had to hide his growing smirk. “You’re scared because so far she’s only </span>
  <em>
    <span>brought people back to life,</span>
  </em>
  <span> but that doesn't mean she can’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>end people’s lives.” </span>
  </em>
  <span>But, no, that wasn’t it either. Dionysus wouldn’t care this much if Clarke had the power to kill mortals or half-bloods; they were too insignificant to him. They were too easy to replace to matter this much. “You’re afraid that she’ll be the thing—the </span>
  <em>
    <span>person—</span>
  </em>
  <span>that ends </span>
  <em>
    <span>your life.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>And, suddenly, everything made sense.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clarke Griffin was a real threat to the gods’ immortality.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She was the </span>
  <em>
    <span>first </span>
  </em>
  <span>threat to their immortality in a long time, if not the first </span>
  <em>
    <span>ever.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>If she controlled the life and death of demigods and monsters, what was stopping her from doing the same with the gods?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The thing about being immortal, Blake, is the fact that </span>
  <em>
    <span>nothing </span>
  </em>
  <span>can end our lives. We’re kept alive by the belief of the people. Take a look at any one of your American cities, and you’ll find us there. A mortal, no matter how powerful, wouldn’t be able to change that.” Bellamy felt something wash over him—a primal sense of fear sparked from the flames of power growing in his eyes. “Do not tell Clarke about her powers. You don’t want to be responsible for a wave of death wiping away thousands of people, do you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Did he?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>No. He was barely able to live with the blood of one on his hands—what would he do with </span>
  <em>
    <span>hundreds? </span>
  </em>
  <span>How could he survive knowing he was responsible for killing hundreds more?</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>But he didn’t want to be a liar either.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Back in his bathroom, when Dionysus first told him to keep his mouth shut, he assumed that Dionysus was going to tell Clarke the truth himself. He was wrong, so very fucking wrong. The god clearly didn’t intend on Clarke finding out the truth.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Bellamy was going to have to lie to her.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>She was smart and quick-thinking; it had been a skill that got them out of tight spots back at the Lotus Hotel, but now it was going to cause problems. She was already asking him questions; why did he come get her, why </span>
  <em>
    <span>now, </span>
  </em>
  <span>why did Dionysus suddenly care about her?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They were more alike than he would like to admit out loud. They were both just pawns in the game of the gods. They were both walking through life with blindfolds over their eyes. When he was sixteen, that blindfold had slipped, and he never turned back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But Clarke… she was still oblivious to the things she didn’t know. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It felt like reality was slowly slipping out from his fingers and he was becoming the thing that he hated. He wished that someone who knew the truth would’ve told </span>
  <em>
    <span>him </span>
  </em>
  <span>earlier and, now that he was that person for Clarke, he couldn’t.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He couldn’t because of those </span>
  <em>
    <span>fucking </span>
  </em>
  <span>gods and their </span>
  <em>
    <span>fucking agendas </span>
  </em>
  <span>and—</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This was why he didn’t want to come back. This was why he left the Dropship all those years ago, even after he found even footing. This was why he turned his back on this world and had no interest in ever coming back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bellamy was tempted to rip down the map in front of him, just so he could feel like he was doing </span>
  <em>
    <span>something.</span>
  </em>
  <span> He didn’t know how long he had been standing in the hotel keeper’s office, blankly staring at the yellowed map on the wall, his fists shaking at his sides. If he had to guess, he would’ve said longer than what would’ve been considered acceptable, going off how the woman at the desk was staring at him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He decided against tearing the map down.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Instead, he forced his eyes to lock onto the paper to study the thousands of roads on it. He attempted this once before, right when he got into the office. He only managed to decide the goal was to get to Colorado that day before he grew distracted by Clarke.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Clarke.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Clarke, the woman who had aim from her godly ancestry, but refused to rely on the simplicity of it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clarke, the woman who had saved his ass by pulling the trigger on the tranquilizer gun, taking down a dozen lotus-eaters without wavering.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clarke, the woman that had turned to him, her cheeks flushed, and told him to strip in the elevator—</span>
  <em>
    <span>for their plan, of course.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Clarke, the woman who could end the world with a simple thought.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clarke, the woman who he was lying to.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clarke, the woman who he was currently avoiding.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Admittedly, that sounded bad.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wasn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>avoiding </span>
  </em>
  <span>her, per say, but he wanted to give her space and time with her grandfather. Dionysus wanted to talk to her. She had questions. The conversation should be private.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It made sense.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It did.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(But then why did his gut twist itself into knots? Why did his heart press against his ribcage at the thought of leaving her alone with </span>
  <em>
    <span>him?)</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He busied himself with planning routes on the map hanging beside the door of the rundown motel office. The map looked older than anything Clarke would’ve owned; the pages were yellowed and weathered, the lines mapping the roads of America faded.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Three days.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’d been gone from home for </span>
  <em>
    <span>three days.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>From the looks of it, he wasn’t going to be back for much longer. To get to Long Island, the location of Camp Half-Blood, and back would take weeks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Which was fine.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wasn’t in a hurry to get home anyway.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His neighbour promised him to collect mail. His plant that usually hung in his bedroom window, affectionately named Dobby, had been transferred to a friend’s house. His bills were set to come out of his </span>
  <em>
    <span>(dwindling) </span>
  </em>
  <span>savings account automatically. He was self-employed, so there wasn’t a boss breathing down his neck, nor was there anyone to file a missing person’s report.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maybe that thought hurt a little too much. He’d already been gone for </span>
  <em>
    <span>two weeks </span>
  </em>
  <span>and nobody had texted him to check he was alive. The only notification he had on his phone was a dozen or so Tweet alerts he had set up for a few authors he followed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nobody missed him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nobody even knew he was missing. Or, not missing; rather, swallowed up by the black hole known as Las Vegas.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This led to him wondering about Clarke.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(Again.)</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>She’d been missing for </span>
  <em>
    <span>three decades. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Bellamy wondered if one of her neighbours promised to collect the mail for her too. She must’ve had a family that missed her, didn’t she? There was no way in hell that she was like him; utterly alone in the world.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She disappeared from the world over </span>
  <em>
    <span>thirty years ago. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Was there anyone out there who missed her? Was there anyone out there who even </span>
  <em>
    <span>noticed </span>
  </em>
  <span>she was missing?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Without thinking, he pulled out his phone and loaded up the Google app. His fingers hesitated over the keys the slightest bit before he took the plunge.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>clarke griffin</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>His fingers shook the slightest bit. The button was right there, just millimeters from his fingertips, but there was something holding him back from hitting search.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This didn’t feel right. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He shoved his phone back in his pocket and pretended to be interested with the map on the wall again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bellamy didn’t know much about her, just what Dionysus told him that first day of the not-quest and what he pieced together from his sparse conversations with her. He wanted to know more; Google just didn’t feel like the right place to get answers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Which was why, as they continued their journey less than an hour later, he was racking his brain to come up with a way to make conversation with her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His gaze kept finding its way to her as he drove. She looked out her window, watching the world fly by around them, her expression blank and guarded. In her hands, she still held onto the ugly toy from the McDonald’s Happy Meal, her thumbs tracing the cowboy hat and the googly eyes absentmindedly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wasn’t paying much attention to that though.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He paid attention to how </span>
  <em>
    <span>different </span>
  </em>
  <span>she looked. He could’ve pretended that it was because this was the first time they could really look at each other under the sunlight, or he could pretend that she looked different because she was </span>
  <em>
    <span>holding </span>
  </em>
  <span>herself different, but that wasn’t it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was the shower.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Back at the Lotus Hotel, he didn’t realize just how </span>
  <em>
    <span>eighties </span>
  </em>
  <span>she looked; poofy hair, loud lipstick, high-rise mom jeans. The shower had washed away all those traces; her face was bare, her hair was pulled into a tight braid, and her clothes—</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>His </span>
  </em>
  <span>clothes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She was wearing his clothing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He hated how his heart sped at the sight. He hated that his gaze was pulled to her like a magnet. He hated that his breath stuttered the first time he saw her when he walked into the motel room, with her hair damp on her shoulders and a sword from his bag rested across her lap.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He hated it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He hated it because </span>
  <em>
    <span>this was it.</span>
  </em>
  <span> They were destined to just be </span>
  <em>
    <span>this</span>
  </em>
  <span>—awkward, and distant, and friends. Gods, he couldn’t even classify them as </span>
  <em>
    <span>friends, </span>
  </em>
  <span>considering he barely knew anything about her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was her protector, and she was his mission.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There couldn’t be more.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It didn’t matter that his heart raced at the sight of her; didn’t matter that he wanted to get to know her; didn’t matter that, if they were just two mortals, he would’ve made his interest clear already.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Because, the fact was, they weren’t mortals.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They were half-bloods.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They were half-bloods, and he was lying to her, and she came from a world before the Internet, and they were being hunted by monsters, and </span>
  <em>
    <span>they wouldn’t work.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>They couldn’t.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This was what he hated about the world of Greek mythology; nothing was truly in his hands. He couldn’t even pretend that he made his own fate.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>He knew better.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>They were just chess pieces on the board of the gods.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It seemed as though Clarke was just discovering this herself. He didn’t know her story, but he knew that she had been abandoned by the gods. For thirty years, she lived in the Lotus Hotel, and the world kept moving without her. She told him herself; the gods never cared about her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was worried for her. She was so silent as they drove, and he wanted to tell himself it was because they didn’t really know each other, but he wasn’t a fool. He knew she was lost in her thoughts—maybe she was even reliving one of the memories that the lotus-eaters had stolen from her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>One thing was clear; she was struggling.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He would be too, if he woke up one day and realized his life passed him by. He couldn’t begin to imagine what it would be like to wake up on what seemed to be a different planet, surrounded by people who lived in a society that had changed so much.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bellamy thought of what he did know about her. He remembered how her face had fallen when she realized the world wasn’t the same as the one she knew; he remembered how her eyes danced when she spoke of her family; he remembered how her smile seemed to shine brighter than the sun itself when she spoke about the little things she liked, like music and art.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>If it hadn’t been clear before, it was clear then; she was the descendant of Apollo.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey,” he said, breaking the silence when an idea came to him. She inclined her head towards him the slightest bit. “Can you grab something from the glove box for me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clarke set down the Happy Meal toy and began to rifle through the glove box. “What am I looking for?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My phone.” He remembered who he was talking to. “Uh. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Cell </span>
  </em>
  <span>phone. Not a landline. Obviously.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck him.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Obviously,” she echoed, her lips barely moving. She began to move napkins and scrap pieces of paper out of the way, searching for the phone he dumped just before they started driving. “That’s how you found the motel earlier, right? You used… </span>
  <em>
    <span>something.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Bellamy realized just how many things he had taken as </span>
  <em>
    <span>normal </span>
  </em>
  <span>in his life that she must’ve never seen before. The cell phone in the glove box, the display attached to the front dashboard, the glowing billboards along the side of the highway were just a few of many.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right. It’s called a cell phone.” He tried to think of a way to explain it. “It’s like a portable landline.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Some of my rich friends had a cellular. Although,” she said, pulling the phone from the glove box, “it was a </span>
  <em>
    <span>lot </span>
  </em>
  <span>bigger than this one.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bellamy would be the first to admit; he wasn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>that </span>
  </em>
  <span>in tune to the eighties. He was born in the late nineties and grew up on Club Penguin and Vine and shit. The closest he got to the eighties was when his mother would play her favourite music for him, or when they’d stay up late and watch movies together. It was kind of surprising to hear cell phones were a thing back then, too. They sure as hell didn’t have them in </span>
  <em>
    <span>Sixteen Candles.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“They’re common now,” he explained. “Almost everyone has one. Chiron and Mr. D always tried to tell demigods </span>
  <em>
    <span>not </span>
  </em>
  <span>to use them, but—” </span>
  <em>
    <span>he wasn’t a demigod. </span>
  </em>
  <span>He never finished his sentence, but Clarke didn’t notice; she was already too engrossed with the piece of technology in her hands. “That’s a pretty old model, but—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Old?” she pressed, her eyes snapping to his. “Bellamy, this is—” The screen lit up to her touch and she let out a breathless laugh. “This is— I don’t even know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His eyes flicked between her and the road stretched out in front of them. It was impossible to stop the smile from growing from watching her interact with her first piece of modern technology. She looked breathless; her eyes were wide, and her lips parted, and—</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Watch the glass,” he warned her, his eyes darting to the tips of her fingers on the screen. “The crack will be sharp.” She pulled her fingers back from the screen. “Guess that’s the shitty part of everything being built from glass; it’s bound to shatter.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hm.” She turned the phone around a few times, examining it from all angles. “You’re going to have to walk me through how to make a call on this thing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh. No. I’m not going to call anyone.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She looked even more confused. “You said it was a portable landline, didn’t you? Doesn’t that mean—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Phones have evolved over the last few years. They do more than just call people now.” He glanced down at the glowing screen. “You see all the squares? Those are called apps, short for—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He tried. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He tried his best to explain how apps worked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Still, after the conversation, Clarke was staring at him, </span>
  <em>
    <span>clearly very confused.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He managed to guide her to the green app on his second home page. He already had a playlist pulled up on Spotify and it streamed through the speakers of the car as soon as she pressed play.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bellamy could feel the rhythmic boom of the drums in his fingertips as a Phil Collins song started blasting. At first, the sound started quiet, slowly building towards something greater, something louder, something—</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clarke let out a choked sound and bolted forward, her eyes wide and locked on the central display. She grew silent. Her hand was frozen, outstretched towards the screen. Her eyes were wide and her jaw dropped for a long moment and, as soon as the singing started, she let out another sound.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Holy shit!” Her eyes darted to his. “Uh— holy shit!?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bellamy couldn’t fight the smile growing on his lips. It was impossible </span>
  <em>
    <span>not </span>
  </em>
  <span>to smile at her pure shock and </span>
  <em>
    <span>joy. </span>
  </em>
  <span>It was as though waves of giddiness were rolling off her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?” he asked, barely able to hide the amusement from his voice.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This song! This— I know this song!” Her fingers curled around his arm for the briefest moment, her pure ecstasy driving her forward. “How— What— I—” A sharp snap of disappointment hit Bellamy when she pulled her hand away from him, turning towards his phone again. “This is a </span>
  <em>
    <span>hit! </span>
  </em>
  <span>It’s— Well— It </span>
  <em>
    <span>was </span>
  </em>
  <span>a hit, back in the eighties, and—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s a classic now.” Bellamy’s thumbs tapped out a beat on the steering wheel, getting swept up in the pulse of the music and Clarke’s excitement. “Yeah, there was a commercial of a gorilla playing the drums to this song that was popular. It kinda relaunched the song for the current generation.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She turned the phone in her hands a few times, her eyes critical and her smile holding strong. “I don’t understand. Is this… a CD player? How can you—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bellamy tried to explain the basics of Spotify to her, which was made complicated by the fact he didn’t really know how it worked, other than it being a streaming service that used the Internet. Clarke’s lack of knowledge on the Internet in general only complicated it further.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It didn’t matter anyway. Clarke was fully absorbed by the music; her head bobbed to the beat, her shoulders swayed, and her expression had morphed into what he could only describe as relief, and warmth, and exhilaration.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>She was beautiful.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He wasn’t supposed to think so. He already decided he </span>
  <em>
    <span>couldn’t. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Yet, he couldn’t change reality.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Clarke Griffin was undeniably beautiful.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>The music swelled. She leaned forward and hit the palms of her hands against the dash in time with the drumbeats. The blissful laugh that followed made Bellamy’s breath rush out of him. And, when Clarke started to mouth the lyrics, his heart completely stopped in his chest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He could barely keep his eyes off of her and he silently thanked Hermes, the god of travelers, that they were the only ones on the open roads.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His heart was pounding in his chest. His throat felt tight. He had the strongest urge to yell the lyrics along with her, or to stick his head out the rolled down windows like they did in the cheesy movies, or reach out and take her hand.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>It had been a long time since he felt like this.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>For a brief moment, he felt free, and light, and </span>
  <em>
    <span>with her. </span>
  </em>
  <span>The shared moment of listening to the music, and letting the sounds wash through them, and </span>
  <em>
    <span>feeling it in their souls—</span>
  </em>
  <span>it made Bellamy feel as though it was greater than just music.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I was a teenager when this song came out,” Clarke said. Her fingers drummed the beat into her leg as she talked. “Gods, I must’ve been, what? Fifteen? Fourteen?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bellamy laughed. “Fuck, Griffin. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I </span>
  </em>
  <span>wasn’t even born yet.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She wrinkled her nose. “That’s so weird.” Even with her expression twisted, she still looked so open and more comfortable than moments ago. It was just like back at the hotel; she was in her element in the eighties. “How do you even know this song then?” But, before he could answer, her eyes were sliding closed. He imagined she was reliving a memory. “I remember the summer this song came out. Lexa Franco bought me the record after not even a </span>
  <em>
    <span>week </span>
  </em>
  <span>of agreeing to go out with her.” Her gaze flickered to his briefly. “I hope the future still uses the term bisexual because it took me </span>
  <em>
    <span>fucking ages </span>
  </em>
  <span>to find a label that I identified with, and I’m not giving this one up without a fight.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m pleased to tell you that people in the twenty-first century still identify as bisexual.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Cool.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She lifted up the phone and changed the song to the next one on the playlist; it was something by Whitney Houston. Bellamy didn’t have the heart to warn Clarke about the limited number of skips they had for the hour.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She watched him out of the corner of her eye again, her gaze more calculating than before. “It… doesn’t make you weirded out, right? That I’m bi. Some people got… </span>
  <em>
    <span>weird </span>
  </em>
  <span>about it back home. I mean, back in the eighties.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He frowned. “Well, those people are homophobic assholes. It’s not weird. </span>
  <em>
    <span>At all.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Fuck anyone who thinks or tells you otherwise.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was a brief pause before she responded. “Alright. Cool.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If someone is an asshole to you about who you are and who you love, they’re homophobic, and I’m not afraid to throw hands with people like that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Throw hands?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh. That’s slang for punching someone. Or fighting. I don’t know. The Internet is confusing.” He waved his hand in dismissal. “Not that you need someone to fight your battles for you—I know you’re capable of handling things on your own—but… just know that I’m in your corner. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Always.</span>
  </em>
  <span> You’re valid and shit.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clarke snorted. “Valid and shit,” she confirmed. They both grinned at each other.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know, your grandfather is known for loving all genders.” She looked surprised. “Not Dionysus; I’m talking about Apollo. Well, I mean, I don’t know much about Dionysus, so he very well could, too. It wasn’t like I wanted to read up on him after I left camp.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Understandable.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just look at the myths with Daphne or Hyacinthus for examples on Apollo. And, at camp, Chiron will put a hoof straight up someone’s ass if they’re homophobic. Followed by me. Although, it will be a fist in the face and not a hoof up the ass.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her grin rivalled the sunrise. “You paint an interesting picture, Blake. And you say you’re not an artist.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, I’m no descendant of Apollo.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“As we’ve established.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...thankfully.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He cringed as he remembered the great ‘Uncle Bellamy’ catastrophe from earlier. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clarke cleared her throat and turned back to the phone. “Anything else I missed, besides some </span>
  <em>
    <span>very </span>
  </em>
  <span>fascinating Internet slang and fancy cellulars?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You could marry a woman now. Same-sex marriage became legal across all fifty states in 2015.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She was silent for a long moment.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then, slowly, she let out a long breath. The laugh that followed was short and breathless.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shit. Wow. That’s… </span>
  <em>
    <span>wow.” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Her smile made a warmth spread across his chest, reaching down to the tips of his fingers. It was impossible not to beam back. “I wasn’t too sure if that would </span>
  <em>
    <span>ever </span>
  </em>
  <span>happen. I… Back home, I wondered if I would have the option of marriage because there was always the question of </span>
  <em>
    <span>could I even marry the person I love, </span>
  </em>
  <span>and— wow.” She laughed again. “Yeah, I’ll definitely be crying about that one later.” She waved her hand and blinked a few times. “Change the subject before I cry right now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He stared at her for a moment longer, absorbing the pure joy and bliss radiating off her in that moment. It was intoxicating.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He looked away after a few beats of the song.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My mom,” Bellamy said simply to change the subject, “she was the one to show me all these songs. She grew up in the eighties and I don’t think music from your childhood ever really leaves you.” His heart gave a painful twinge. It had been a while since he thought of her. “She’d like to show me her record player like it was the coolest thing in the world. I was a shitty little kid though and brushed it off. I wish I could go back and change that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It felt weird to say out loud. This was something he never imagined admitting to </span>
  <em>
    <span>anyone, </span>
  </em>
  <span>especially not someone who was practically a stranger. But maybe that was what made Clarke the perfect person to admit this to; they didn’t know each other, and, after these two weeks, they’d fall out of each other’s lives. Talking with her was the equivalent of shouting into a void.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clarke grew quieter. Her body stilled, with the exception of her foot that tapped along to the rhythm. “There’s a lot of things I would change too… things from my past.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Briefly, Bellamy felt horrible. He shouldn’t be wishing his past was different, not when Clarke was quite literally ripped out of her past. </span>
  <em>
    <span>He </span>
  </em>
  <span>let his life pass him by; Clarke had no choice in the matter.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The feeling was brief though because, yeah, his past sucked ass too. He didn’t have to be relocated from a different decade to wish he could change his past mistakes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s how I know the music from the eighties,” Bellamy continued. “A lot of it stuck around too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clarke skipped to the next song, making Bellamy cringe. He really should’ve warned her that they had a limited number of skips. But, before he could get the words out, the first few beats of the song started playing and he let out a loud groan.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuck me,” he muttered. He reached across the car and flipped the phone in his direction. Sure enough— “I just got Rickrolled by someone who doesn’t know what Rickrolling is.” He skipped the song and settled back into his seat as an ad started playing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey!” Clarke complained. “That song’s my jam!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m going to give you a crash course on memes, alright? And I’ll explain why people are going to think you’re joking if you ever bring up Rick Astley.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But I </span>
  <em>
    <span>love </span>
  </em>
  <span>Rick Astley and—”</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>Several hours and several playlists later, Clarke brought up the one thing they were both attempting to dodge through the day.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She turned to him. “Can I ask you something?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Those words alone made his heart race and palms sweat. Or maybe it was from the intensity in her eyes, or the determination behind the lift of her chin, or the way she finally seemed calm that made his heart jump.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sure, Griffin. Anything.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you trust Dionysus?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He knew it was coming—he knew he’d get brought up again after that morning—yet he still wasn’t ready for the question.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The answer was easy; he didn’t. He had no reason to. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dionysus was the one to send him on the quest that changed his life; he was the one to kick him out of camp; he never cared about his campers. Even now, he was dangerous; he withheld information he needed for his mission and he was forcing him to lie to Clarke.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She nodded pensively. While he didn’t know her well, he could tell she was thinking; a crease appeared between her eyebrows whenever she was lost in a thought or memory.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why’d you do it then?” she asked. He swore that her eyes could see into his soul. “Why’d you come get me? You’re not a demigod under his care so, obviously, it wasn’t out of obligation.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He considered his words carefully.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Because… I know what it’s like to be forgotten by the gods. If I didn’t go, I… I didn’t know what would happen to you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frankly, this was the most honest he’d gotten with another person in a long time. It was easy to hide behind half-truths and partial lies. It was safer that way.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clarke made him feel brave though; she made him feel like he </span>
  <em>
    <span>wanted </span>
  </em>
  <span>to tell someone what was on his mind.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>No, not someone.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Her.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“But you didn’t even know me,” she pointed out, her voice growing sharper. She faltered. Her expression softened. “You </span>
  <em>
    <span>still</span>
  </em>
  <span> don’t know me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“True, we don’t know each other.” Bellamy was briefly tempted to tell her that he </span>
  <em>
    <span>wanted </span>
  </em>
  <span>to know her, but he shoved that thought aside before it was truly formed. “I might not know who you are, but you’re </span>
  <em>
    <span>mortal,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Clarke, just like me. Or at least you’re </span>
  <em>
    <span>partially </span>
  </em>
  <span>mortal. You’re innocent. You don’t deserve to be punished because of the failure of the gods.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And, suddenly, it wasn’t just the road in front of him, and it wasn’t the steering wheel on his palms, and it wasn’t Clarke beside him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was mountainside, and the hilt of her sword, and </span>
  <em>
    <span>her.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Octavia.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>The memory was sharp in more ways than one. It cut a hole the size of his fist inside of his chest. The intensity of it all made his head feel light and his chest hollow. The bitterness that he could taste on his tongue was familiar, but it was not a welcomed friend.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>She didn’t deserve it either. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>She didn’t deserve to die because of their lack of </span>
  <em>
    <span>care, </span>
  </em>
  <span>and their convoluted missions, and their secrets.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She didn’t deserve to be punished because of the gods’ failures. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maybe Clarke could read him just as he read her and was able to tell he’d been sucked into a different world. She reached towards the dash to turn the volume of the blasting music down the slightest bit. Her gaze studied his face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You have a complicated history with them, don’t you?” she stated, her words slow, as if she was testing each one of them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What gave it away?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You mentioned that my grandfather kicked you out of camp. You don’t think I should trust him. You don’t have the highest views of them. It’s pretty clear that you’re not exactly a fan of this world. Need I go on?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He didn’t want to talk about this. Screw honesty; he’d rather literally spill his guts on the side of the road than metaphorically spill them to her right now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bellamy did the one thing he was good at.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>He ran.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“I didn’t say that,” he said, his voice coming out rougher than it was before. He was thrown by the change just as much as Clarke was; her eyes snapped to his, her lips pressed firmly together, her eyebrows lifted just the slightest bit. “I never said you shouldn’t trust him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She didn’t speak for a long moment. The song changed to one by Queen. It was funny in a horrible way that </span>
  <em>
    <span>this </span>
  </em>
  <span>would be the artist to come on right now. If this were a movie, they’d have their heads out their windows and arms in the sky, but—</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>This wasn’t a movie.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>It was real life, and real life </span>
  <em>
    <span>sucked.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, </span>
  <em>
    <span>you </span>
  </em>
  <span>don’t trust him,” Clarke pointed out. “That’s a good enough reason for me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We aren’t the same person,” he snapped. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He didn’t know why the embers of a fire were burning up from the pits of his stomach, scorching his throat and burning whatever bridge they had begun to build earlier that day. All he knew was that he was angry and frustrated and wanted </span>
  <em>
    <span>(needed) </span>
  </em>
  <span>to run away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She responded just how he intended her to. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her back straightened. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her foot stopped tapping. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her hands stilled.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck him.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fine.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The silence was thick.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As Freddie Mercury sang about having a good time, Bellamy decided that it couldn’t be further from the truth. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bellamy was, in fact, </span>
  <em>
    <span>not </span>
  </em>
  <span>having a good time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She reached forward and turned the volume down again. “I know we’re not </span>
  <em>
    <span>friends </span>
  </em>
  <span>or whatever, but can you at least tell me </span>
  <em>
    <span>why </span>
  </em>
  <span>you don’t trust him?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He still didn’t want to talk about it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s nothing. Just leave it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is it because he kicked you out of camp?”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Griffin.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“I just want to know what I’m getting myself into, Bellamy.” Her voice had shifted to mirror his; it was sharp, and desperate, and heated. His fingers dug into the steering wheel. “Alright? I’m just… I’m </span>
  <em>
    <span>tired </span>
  </em>
  <span>of being kept in the dark.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He could hear the fire and the strain in her voice. He knew there was something more to this—something that he was missing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His jaw tightened.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Should I trust him?” she asked again.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>No.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He knew this without question. Nobody should trust the gods and Dionysus was no exception. This was especially true for Clarke. Dionysus wasn’t trustworthy; he was lying to her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then again, was </span>
  <em>
    <span>Bellamy </span>
  </em>
  <span>trustworthy? He was lying to her about the same things as Dionysus was. He was a wolf pretending to be a sheep.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>He was a hypocrite.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>When he didn’t answer, Clarke pushed further. “Fine, you don’t want to tell me what to do—I appreciate that. Just… can you tell me why </span>
  <em>
    <span>you </span>
  </em>
  <span>don’t trust him? I’m a big girl. I can make decisions for myself.” Her eyes—</span>
  <em>
    <span>her eyes—</span>
  </em>
  <span>Bellamy swore they could peer right into his soul when they locked onto him. “Is Dionysus trustworthy?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why not?”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Because he’s lying to you.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Because he’s an asshole.” His mouth felt dry. His palms were slick. “Listen, I left camp years ago, okay? I don’t do quests anymore, I don’t keep up with their drama, and I don’t care about their problems, so I can’t exactly give you a PowerPoint presentation on why he’s not exactly the greatest man out there, filled with a list and APA citations on why he sucks ass. Alright? I can’t do that. I left it all behind years ago and never looked back and, </span>
  <em>
    <span>yes, </span>
  </em>
  <span>that is your grandfather’s fault. I don’t trust </span>
  <em>
    <span>any </span>
  </em>
  <span>of the gods, Clarke, and neither should you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His chest was heaving by the time he finished.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She simply looked at him. Maybe she inherited more than Apollo’s gift of archery; with the way she was staring, he was almost convinced she had the gift of prophecy or mind reading or witchcraft or— </span>
  <em>
    <span>something.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>And then, as if she </span>
  <em>
    <span>could </span>
  </em>
  <span>actually read the deepest parts of his soul, she spoke one simple sentence that ripped the air from his lungs and twisted his heart.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What about your godly parent?” she asked. “Don’t you trust them?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He almost told her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He almost let the truth fall from his lips because wouldn’t that be easier than harbouring yet another lie? Wouldn’t speaking it into the universe take it out of his hands? It wouldn’t be resting on </span>
  <em>
    <span>his </span>
  </em>
  <span>shoulders anymore—it would be shared with her?</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>He almost told her.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He didn’t.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No.” He struggled for the right words. “My dad… he’s not…. He’s not </span>
  <em>
    <span>good.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>She fell silent.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was fitting that the song playing softly in the background was about the stars.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bellamy reached over to skip to the next song, his jaw tightening and heart pounding.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He could feel her gaze burning on the side of his face. He kept his eyes firmly locked on the road and busied his mind with how beautiful the world seemed to be in that moment. The quickly approaching sunset was dousing the world in honey. The forest hugging the sides of the road cast long shadows on the pavement. The view from the mountains they climbed rivalled the view from the top of Camp Half-Blood hill.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Objectively,” Clarke said, speaking in measured words, “are </span>
  <em>
    <span>any </span>
  </em>
  <span>of the Greek gods good? They all have some pretty horrible myths about them.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His laugh was dry. “Maybe, but my father wasn’t a hero and neither am I.” And, once again, everything felt far away. The guilt from losing Octavia, the grief that he buried deep within him, the memories he tried to forget—they all felt as fresh as they did when he was sixteen. “All I do is hurt people. I’m a monster.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clarke didn’t say anything, but he could sense the shift in her and he could sense the shift in the atmosphere.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He let out a wet laugh and blinked back tears rising in him. “I don’t know what I’m fucking saying. The Lotus Hotel— my mind—” His words felt hollow, even to him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey,” she said, her voice surprisingly soft, “you saved my life yesterday. You may be a total ass half the time, but you are </span>
  <em>
    <span>not </span>
  </em>
  <span>a monster. Horrible people don’t go out of their way to </span>
  <em>
    <span>rescue </span>
  </em>
  <span>someone they don’t even know and drive them across the country.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I thought it wasn’t a rescue?” </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Deflection came as easy to him as breathing.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“It was. I was wrong before,” she admitted slowly. “Without you, I would still be trapped in that hotel.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Anyone could’ve done it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But it wasn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>anyone. </span>
  </em>
  <span>It was you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was a brief moment where Bellamy felt tethered to her—it was less similar to the moment when they first started blasting eighties hits, and more like the time where they stood shoulder-to-shoulder at the Lotus Hotel and Casino, protecting each other’s backs, risking their lives to keep the other one breathing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They were </span>
  <em>
    <span>together.</span>
  </em>
  <span> It was just the two of them in this car. It felt like they could’ve been the only two in the world.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Just as quickly as the moment formed, it snapped. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is it because of what happened on your quest?” He froze as her words washed over him. “Is that why you think you’re a monster because, whatever happened. you’re not and—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What do you know?” His words were more venomous than they were before. Anger washed over him. His heart pressed against his ribs. The lightness that filled his heart only seconds ago vanished. “Who told you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clarke eyed him. “My grandfather mentioned something, but—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was angry. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>No, it was more than that. He was </span>
  <em>
    <span>burning.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>(And, secretly, he felt something worse rising up in him; something that made his stomach twist; something that made him feel like he was on a ship lost at sea.)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But </span>
  <em>
    <span>what?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“But nothing,” Clarke snapped.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What did he tell you? Because—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nothing.” She crossed her arms. “I don’t know anything. He just said that quests are dangerous and that you'd know all about that. I just assumed—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. You assumed.” Bellamy’s knuckles were pale from the way he gripped the wheel. “You don’t know what you’re talking about, so don’t go pretending like you </span>
  <em>
    <span>know </span>
  </em>
  <span>me just because we breathed the same air for a few hours, or because we’re both problematic descendants of Olympus, or because we like the same music. Alright? </span>
  <em>
    <span>You don’t know me.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Let’s keep it that way.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her laugh was sharp. “I take back what I said earlier. You’re </span>
  <em>
    <span>not </span>
  </em>
  <span>an asshole half of the time. You’re an asshole </span>
  <em>
    <span>all </span>
  </em>
  <span>of the time.” She reached forward and cranked the volume. Cyndi Lauper blasted. “My grandfather—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t give a shit about what your grandfather said,” he hissed, his anger still bubbling up. “I already told you that I don’t trust him. I left that world and haven’t looked back after that. You should too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The stiff silence stretched between them. A whole verse sung by Cyndi Lauper went by.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then, she shifted her whole body away from him. Her eyes locked on the sprawling mountains just beyond the glass of the window.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That world is all I have left, Bellamy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Those were the last words she spoke to him that day—so quiet and pained and defeated. His heart twinged in his chest, but he said nothing.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>He said nothing.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>The silence was thick and awkward. Even though eighties music filled the spaces between them, it did nothing to ease the tension.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was only after several more hours in a rest stop just outside of Glenwood Springs, Colorado that they spoke again. Bellamy was laying across the back seat of the car with his backpack stuffed under his head as a makeshift pillow, while Clarke was reclined in the passenger seat again, the still-ugly Happy Meal toy on her lap. He watched her tuck it into her jacket pocket.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We should be up early tomorrow if we want to make it further than we did today,” Bellamy said into the dark. He shifted uncomfortably as the seat belt buckle dug into his back. “I’ll set an alarm for seven, alright?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Got it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The car was illuminated by the soft silver light of the moon and glowing screen of Bellamy’s phone. As promised, he set an alarm for the next morning before tucking the phone into his pocket.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>It was hard to fall asleep that night. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He had too much on his mind; the conversation with Dionysus, the anger and resentment towards the gods, the tense conversations with Clarke, the pain he thought he left behind years ago. His thoughts were plagued more than the previous night, now that he hadn’t spent the day fighting for his life.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Being back in the world of Greek mythology was stirring up all types of thoughts and feelings he thought he put away a long time ago, and he didn’t know how he felt about that.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>In fact, he didn’t know how he felt about a lot of things.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He glanced towards the front seat. Clarke’s expression was one of discomfort and deep thought, with her eyebrows pinched together and her lips in a tight line. Her skin looked milky under the moonlight. A stray piece of her blonde hair moved with each of her even breaths.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She wasn’t happy, but she was alive.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>She was alive, </span>
  </em>
  <span>and he would do damn-near everything to keep it that way.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Something settled into place in his chest.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p><strong>(continuation from warnings above):</strong> this chapter has a discussion about homophobia (context: Clarke's from the 80s and is bisexual, so there's brief mention about that).</p><p>The discussion is as follows: Clarke mentions she is bisexual and that some people were weird about it in the 80s, Bellamy responds as an ally (and threatens to throw hands if need be). The focus is put on validating and uplifting Clarke's voice.</p><p>If you want more details about this before you read the chapter, feel free to reach out to me and I can chat about it! And, a reminder that if you would rather read this chapter without this, feel free to contact me on Twitter or Tumblr (or even in the comments), and I'll find a way to get the chapter to you without this conversation.</p><p>.</p><p>.</p><p>.</p><p>.</p><p>Credit to all the amazing musicians and artists mentioned in this chapter... How could I write anything about the 80s without mentioning Phil Collins, Rick Astley, Queen, or Whitney Houston.</p><p>Exciting news... This fic was nominated MULTIPLE times for the <a href="https://bellarkeficawards.tumblr.com">Bellarke Fic Writer Awards</a> on Tumblr. Huge thank you to those who nominated it (and voted it through to round 2 already!!!! wow!!!!!!). I'm so grateful! I've listed the categories it has been nominated in below:</p><ul>
<li>Best Alternate Universe Fic (WIP)</li>
<li>Best Angst Fic (WIP)</li>
<li>Best Romance Fic (WIP)</li>
<li>Best Fantasy AU</li>
<li>Best Fusion/Crossover AU</li>
<li>Best Slow Burn Fic</li>
<li>Best Enemies to Lovers Fic</li>
<li>Most Original Idea</li>
<li>Best Worldbuilding</li>
</ul><p>If you enjoy fic in the fandom, be sure to go show some extra love by voting for any of your favourite fics. I believe Round 2 is open until September 27 at 8pm EST. And there are a few rounds of voting to follow in the next few weeks too!</p><p>Thank you for reading. As always, comments and kudos are appreciated &lt;3<br/>Come find me on Tumblr <a href="https://pawprinterfanfic.tumblr.com/">here!</a></p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Clarke and Bellamy go Bungee Jumping: Hold the Bungee, Add the Death</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>It's been a while. but. hello. Let's return to a world where Clarke and Bellamy are descendants from Greek mythology and currently travelling across America to get to Camp Half-Blood in New York. We left them sleeping in a car very awkwardly in Colorado.</p><p>Enjoy!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Clarke struggled to fall asleep that night.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her thoughts kept moving in loops — circling — echoing. With every worry she cut down, two more sprung up to take its place. It was hard to place memories in time and even harder to distinguish memories from dreams, and dreams from wishes, and wishes from desperation.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Even though it felt like her mind was in pieces, and it felt as though there was a gaping hole where her heart should’ve been, and she had every reason to be falling apart right now—</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>She couldn’t stop thinking of Bellamy.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>It was a fucking curse, one that she hoped to find the cure to soon.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This was her life now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Cell phones, and Spotify, and cramped cars, and secretive men and gods, and—</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She blew out a long breath and cracked her eyes open. The roof of the car had grass stains on it and she wasn’t sure if she wanted to know how they got there. Even reclined back in the seat, she could see the rolling hills of Colorado out the window. In the distance, they looked like giants towering over the land. Although, in reality, giants weren’t always much taller than mortals and half-bloods. Clouds were rolling in too; she could see them in the sky, reminding her of a tidal wave of ink sliding towards them. Moonlight spilled in from all angles, never allowing her a moment to </span>
  <em>
    <span>pretend </span>
  </em>
  <span>that she wasn’t sleeping in a car with Bellamy Blake.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Bellamy Blake.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>She didn’t know what to make of him. It was something she had been grappling with for days now. He rescued her from Ancient Greek monsters, but did so on her grandfather’s orders. His touches and his </span>
  <em>
    <span>smile </span>
  </em>
  <span>and his eyes—they all made her heart race and her body come alive with electricity, but </span>
  <em>
    <span>was any of that real, </span>
  </em>
  <span>or was it all part of the job? She trusted him—</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Right?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>She trusted him?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clarke shifted to stare at him in the backseat. It looked uncomfortable; his legs were too long for the width of the car, his knees were curled towards his chest, his head was bent at an odd angle as it slid off his makeshift pillow. For a brief moment, she was tempted to guide his head back onto the bag, but the temptation passed quickly.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Did she trust him?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Looking at him now, fast asleep and snoring slightly, it was hard to imagine </span>
  <em>
    <span>not </span>
  </em>
  <span>trusting him. Asleep, he looked innocent and open and harmless — like </span>
  <em>
    <span>she </span>
  </em>
  <span>should be the one protecting </span>
  <em>
    <span>him.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>But, then she thought back to his conversation she overheard with Dionysus, when it was made </span>
  <em>
    <span>extremely </span>
  </em>
  <span>clear that Bellamy’s job was to protect her. Protect her from what, she wasn’t sure — based on what she overhead, he wasn’t too sure either.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Why did she need to be protected anyway? She was a legacy, not a demigod. Monsters weren’t drawn to her; they never had been. What had changed since then? Why was she suddenly in danger and needing a protector?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her thoughts were plagued with monsters, and gods, and questions; questions like should she trust the man a few inches from her, or should she listen to his constant assurances that he was a monster? Was it a good idea to be trying to crack the enigma that was Bellamy Blake or—</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Over and over.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Her mind kept going.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her thoughts kept twisting into a helix.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hours passed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The clouds that looked like ink on the horizon gave way to a full-on storm. Quickly, the soft pitter patter of rain against the windows and on the metal roof turned into a torrential downpour, masking the sounds of the world around her. With the black clouds covering the moon and the rain painting the world grey, it was easier to pretend that everything was okay.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Maybe everything was okay.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>She started to drift. Her thoughts quieted. Her body was soothed by the steady movements of what felt like a boat on calm waters — drifting, floating—</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Just when Clarke felt herself succumb to the darkness lapping at the edges of her mind, she was jolted awake as her senses became overwhelmed by the feeling of being on a boat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before she opened her eyes, her hands curled around the plushness of the chair beneath her, her eyes bolted open, and—</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>It wasn’t a dream.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>She shot upright and, for a moment, she couldn’t tell what was happening. She was disoriented from sleep, and couldn’t tell which way was up and down, and—</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Clarke!” Bellamy hissed, “Clarke, don’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>move.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>She froze.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The fear and urgency in his voice made everything come to a grinding halt — all the worry, and the confusion, and the desperation — it all froze with his plea.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clarke sucked in a few deep breaths, feeling as though she just ran several miles. Her spine was stiff. The dash was cold and unmoulding under her tight grip. Her skin had grown slick with sweat. The beat of her heart hummed in her throat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She couldn’t see anything. The windows were fogged up and it was too dark outside with the clouds blotting out the moon. It was still storming out; she could hear the pounding of the water above them. The wind caused the car to rock the slightest bit, causing a weird sense of sea sickness to rise up in Clarke.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>What she </span>
  <em>
    <span>could</span>
  </em>
  <span> see was </span>
  <em>
    <span>him.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Bellamy’s face was a few inches from hers; it looked as though he had been in the middle of moving towards her and froze before he got there. His eyes were wide, his pupils blown, and his breathing shallow.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He looked scared.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>And that scared her.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Not even when they were facing down lotus-eaters did he look this terrified. She didn’t know Bellamy well, but she knew he was </span>
  <em>
    <span>fearless.</span>
  </em>
  <span> He had stared death in the face with a locked jaw and a fire in his eye, but this — </span>
  <em>
    <span>this </span>
  </em>
  <span>was new.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lightning flashed in the distance and, for a brief moment, they could see each other without the hindrance of darkness. As if the light broke the spell over both of them, his hand inched from where it gripped the back of the passenger’s seat to grasp hers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her breath stuttered. “Bellamy,” she breathed, barely audible over the rain. His fingers tightened around hers, acknowledging her. “Bellamy, what’s—”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>She didn’t have to finish asking her question.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>A second flash of lightning lit up the world around them. Clarke wasn’t sure if she was truly awake or not because—</span>
</p><p>
  <span>—what she saw just beyond the few inches of glass was straight out of a nightmare.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The horizon was a blur — or, more accurately, </span>
  <em>
    <span>the horizon wasn’t there.</span>
  </em>
  <span> The rain made it nearly impossible to see through the glass, or maybe it was the darkness, or maybe she was actually, truly, </span>
  <em>
    <span>really </span>
  </em>
  <span>still dreaming because—</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>They were going to hurdle off the side of a cliff.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>A stronger wave of dread washed through her. She recoiled away from the front of the car and her fingers wound so tightly around Bellamy’s that she could barely feel them. The whole car shook with her movement, causing Bellamy to hiss.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey!” he barked. He moved forward the same time she moved back, counteracting her movements and effectively bringing them closer together. She took it in all at once; his breath washing across the side of her neck, her elbow between his bicep and chest, the way his arm had managed to hook around her shoulders to hold her against the seat between them. “Stop moving. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Stop.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>She hadn’t realized she was squirming, trying to break out of his hold. She went rigid again, mirroring his state. Their harsh breaths were the only sounds for a long beat — a beat that felt both like years and seconds at the same time. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The position they were in was intimate; they were practically glued together, with their arms winding in partial embraces. It was a level of closeness she only imagined with him once before, and that was back at the Lotus Hotel, and she expected there would be a little more frantic movements and a little less clothing involved.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s happening?” she asked, her voice just as quiet as his. She was tempted to strain her neck to peer out the window, but didn’t dare move. With each of their breaths, the car moved the slightest bit. Even the force from the rain outside felt threatening. “Bellamy, what’s—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When lightning flashed again, she saw exactly where they were.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They were dangling on the edge of the mountain, their car beached on what must’ve been a large dune of earth, balancing precariously above a dark abyss. She couldn’t see what was behind them, only what laid in front.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Nothingness.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Just a steep slope of the mountain, littered with trees and rocks, then an even steeper drop off. She imagined the face of the cliff ended there before turning into a steep plummet to the ground far, </span>
  <em>
    <span>far </span>
  </em>
  <span>below.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clarke tried to convince herself that the darkness made it look worse than it actually was, but that lie felt hollow, even to her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her chest froze. For a heart-stopping second, her whole body turned to ice as dread washed over her. Her breath caught and her mind spiralled and—</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They were going to die.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was the loudest thought in her mind — if not the </span>
  <em>
    <span>only </span>
  </em>
  <span>thought. She should’ve been thinking about how they were most definitely parked only a few minutes before, or that they weren’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>near </span>
  </em>
  <span>the side of a mountain when they fell asleep, or that neither of them </span>
  <em>
    <span>started </span>
  </em>
  <span>the car, but—</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They were going to die.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The dark abyss in front of them guaranteed that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t move,” he warned before she could react. Her nails dug into his arm. Her throat closed in on itself. “We just need—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We need to get </span>
  <em>
    <span>out,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>she hissed. A strong gust of wind made her heart jump into her throat. The car lurched forward. A scraping sound came from below them, sending a shiver up her spine. They waited two beats, but they didn’t get pushed over. “Bellamy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I hear you.” He shifted the slightest bit, causing the car to follow in a domino effect. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clarke felt as though her soul had been ripped from her body in that moment. She could barely feel her legs anymore from the amount of fear coursing through her veins. She was watching herself from three feet up; watching as the car tipped forward, watching Bellamy inched away, watching as they prepared to plummet to their deaths.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She tried to pretend that she didn’t feel anything when Bellamy finally detached himself from her — not a pang of worry, not a horrible sense of dread, not primal fear. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Not just for herself, but for him, too.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>The same feelings from earlier rose in her, the one that made her want to adjust his head so his neck wouldn’t get stiff, and shoot down any lotus-eaters that laid a hand on him, and—</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He moved too sharply. The car tilted. The wind didn’t help.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bellamy,” she warned lowly. The car tipped like a horrible carnival ride. She didn’t dare look over her shoulder at him. “Bellamy, what are you—?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I need to see out the back.” This time, she did glance behind her. He was slowly inching his way back to his makeshift bed, moving cautiously like he was approaching a scared animal. His eyes were still locked on her form. Their gazes met. He must’ve mistaken her terror for him as fear for herself. “It’s alright. You’re okay. I’ll get you out and you’ll be okay.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She swallowed thickly.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>How could she begin to tell him that she wasn’t scared for herself, but scared for him as well?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>And now their fates were tied together with both of them in the same car dangling over the same edge of the mountain. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The more he moved, the more the car tipped and the more she felt petrified by fear.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bellamy, </span>
  <em>
    <span>stop,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>she hissed. He didn’t slow his movements. Her eyes darted between watching him and staring out the side windows, watching as the water blurred the trees around them. She was disoriented from the tipping of the car, and the wind, and the rain, and the darkness. “Stop moving! We need a plan!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This is a </span>
  <em>
    <span>plan.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“This is a death wish!” He didn’t listen. “Bellamy! You’re going to get us </span>
  <em>
    <span>killed!”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m trying to </span>
  <em>
    <span>save us, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Princess, so—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The car tipped backwards and, for a terrifying second, she wasn’t sure if there was any earth behind the to catch them. Bellamy’s eyes widened and his hands flinched to grasp the headrest of the driver’s seat and, she knew, he was thinking the same thing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Your plans are shit!” she snapped. Her eyes screwed shut and she sucked in a calming breath. The car still wobbled, but it had settled once Bellamy stopped moving. “If you move, I move, got it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hold on—”</span>
</p><p><span>“Have you never heard of </span><em><span>physics?” </span></em><span>Clarke asked, her tone venomous. She couldn’t tell if she was angry </span><em><span>at him</span></em><span> or terrified </span><em><span>for him.</span></em><span> “We need to redistribute the weight to keep balanced. We’re balanced on the centre of mass right now, and we need to </span><em><span>stay that way, </span></em><span>or we’ll end up dead.” She couldn’t gauge his expression. “If you move back, I move forward. We do this together,</span> <span>alright? We’re in this together.”</span></p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Together.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“We need a way out.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bellamy locked eyes with her and she nodded, swallowing down the fear rising in her. Understanding flowed between them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright then.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then, </span>
  <em>
    <span>together, </span>
  </em>
  <span>they moved. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Their eyes never left each other as Bellamy inched back and to the side. They took a slow and steady pace. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Inch by inch, </span>
  </em>
  <span>they crossed the car. The width of the car, which Clarke thought of </span>
  <em>
    <span>so small </span>
  </em>
  <span>only hours before felt as vast as an ocean now. The movements were jagged and uncoordinated, but </span>
  <em>
    <span>eventually, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Bellamy reached the side of the car and they hadn’t plummeted to their deaths.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She breathed out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Careful,” she warned him as he reached towards the door handle. Bellamy’s eyes snapped to hers for a brief moment and she felt entirely too exposed. “Just… don’t move too quickly.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s been established already, Princess.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t call me Princess.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’re about to die and </span>
  <em>
    <span>that’s </span>
  </em>
  <span>what you want to comment on?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We </span>
  <em>
    <span>aren’t </span>
  </em>
  <span>about to die,” she snapped, even though those same words had been looping in her mind ever since she woke up. “You’re such an ass.” He seemed more amused than annoyed. “If you’re going to keep calling me Princess, I’m going to have to give you a nickname.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He tugged on the door handle. No give. She checked that the doors weren’t locked before he tried again.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Nothing.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He frowned. “It must be pressed against something.” He pulled again. “What nickname would that be?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s the nickname you plan on giving me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clarke moved to try her door. It didn’t budge either. “My door’s not opening either. It’s not stuck on something.” Her mind raced. Something wasn’t right. “How’d we get here? How’d we—?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m checking the other door.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He barely gave enough warning before he started moving across the car. She fumbled to mirror his movements.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I have a good nickname for you,” she told him as they moved. His eyes briefly flitted to hers. “You want to hear it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hit me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Robin Hood.” He scoffed. “Oh, please, if I’m </span>
  <em>
    <span>Princess </span>
  </em>
  <span>then you have to be something on that same level. It’s so </span>
  <em>
    <span>you, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Bellamy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can’t believe we’re having this conversation right now. We’re about to fucking die and you’re—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Case A: you </span>
  <em>
    <span>so </span>
  </em>
  <span>have the mentality of stealing from the rich to give to the poor. Like, come on, you’re against the gods and are all about empowering their descendants, right? That’s the vibes I’m getting from you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He frowned at her. “Can we not mention how I dislike certain deities when we’re </span>
  <em>
    <span>inches </span>
  </em>
  <span>away from dying?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Case B: you’re an archer. I should’ve led with this one.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You should’ve.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Case C: our nicknames are matching with the Disney theme. It just makes sense.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bellamy eyed her from across the car. “You’re having too much fun with this, aren’t you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Payback’s bitchin’, Bell.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His smile was genuine. “The saying is ‘payback’s a </span>
  <em>
    <span>bitch.’”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Same difference.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They finally reached opposite ends of the car. He didn’t need to pull on the handle for Clarke to already know; it wasn’t going to open. To appease him, she pulled on the handle of the driver’s door.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Trapped.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>They were trapped.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The light banter from earlier evaporated, leaving behind a heaviness on Clarke’s shoulders.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The window,” she instructed, pointing to the back windshield, “we need to break it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bellamy was already moving to the weapons bag across the car. Once again, Clarke mirrored him. He faltered when their paths met in the centre of the car — when she was right in front of him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her breath blew a few of his stray curls out of his eyes. She didn’t realize she was breathing so hard. She wondered if her heart had fallen out of her chest; she could barely feel it beating.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You good?” he asked. She nodded. “Good.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They continued to inch their way to opposite ends of the car.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The storm outside was picking up, as if it could sense their movement inside. The more they planned and moved, the stronger the winds became. The windows fogged up to hell with their sweat and hot breaths being a stark contrast to the cool rain outside.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clarke had </span>
  <em>
    <span>just </span>
  </em>
  <span>swung her second leg over the centre console when it happened.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The boom resonated through her body — or, maybe that was the fear? Her hands flew to the inner sides of the front seats to hold herself up, her instincts two steps behind the logic. The car tipped forward, acting like a gut-twisting seesaw.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bellamy let out a grunt as he rolled forward, the momentum of </span>
  <em>
    <span>whatever </span>
  </em>
  <span>just hit their car spilling him towards her. He stopped a few inches from her face. She could feel the heat from his body ghosting along her skin.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She couldn’t finish her thought.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bellamy, now leaning too close to her, bashed his forehead against hers when a second hit came outside. Her hand flew up to press against her nose, but she was too shocked to make a sound of pain. Blood quickly seeped through her fingers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Back!” he said frantically. His hands grasped her elbows and hauled her over the center console, pulling her into the backseat after him. “Something’s on us!” He didn’t give her a chance to help him; she was practically dead weight as he dragged her across the car. Her feet kicked uselessly as she struggled to find purchase. “The hood! Something’s on the—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her foot connected with the roof of the car, giving the final push to send her into the back seat. As she crashed ungracefully into Bellamy, Clarke couldn’t help but think that </span>
  <em>
    <span>this </span>
  </em>
  <span>was how the grass stains must’ve got up there. He must have a habit of almost dying in this car.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Their world rocked back and forth like a horrible Ferris wheel cart. The bottom of the car scraped against the rocks it was perched on, almost disguising the loud giggles coming from the other side of the windshield.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you hear—”</span>
</p><p><span>She fell silent</span> <span>as something hit the car again. </span></p><p>
  <span>They were a tangled mess of limbs in the backseat; her arms were trapped between their bodies, his arms were wrapped around her back, their legs were stuck between the seats, their bodies pressed together. When the car lurched forward, this time more violently than before, Clarke let out a yelp as they were both thrown forwards.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He caught himself before the full force of his weight landed on her, his body now shielding her from the outside world. The seat she laid across was still warm with the ghost of Bellamy’s body heat from where he had fallen asleep earlier. His hair tickled her nose as it hung into her face and her chest felt impossible to move with the angle of their position. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her gaze locked onto his face with desperation when lightning struck. Clarke drunk in his details like a parched woman; the sweat that beaded along his forehead, the splatter of blood dribbling down the side of his head — </span>
  <em>
    <span>her blood — </span>
  </em>
  <span>and the primal fear in his eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her veins filled with ice.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The car went dark again before she could crane her neck to look out the front windshield to catch sight of what made him so terrified.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bellamy, </span>
  <em>
    <span>what?</span>
  </em>
  <span> What is it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Another flash of lightning.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This time, she was ready.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She strained to look out the windshield, desperate to see what was hitting them. She caught the tail-end of the bolt of lightning forking across the sky, casting an electric blue light across the soaked earth, lighting the creatures sitting on the hood of the car.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>No, </span>
  </em>
  <span>not </span>
  <em>
    <span>creatures.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Girls.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There were four teenage girls perched on the hood of the car. They looked more dead than alive, with bloodshot eyes, and bloody mouths, and greyed flesh.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clarke recoiled further into the seat beneath her just as the fifth teenage girl appeared, this time not on the hood of the car, but peering through the driver’s side window.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What </span>
  <em>
    <span>are </span>
  </em>
  <span>those things!?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maenads,” Bellamy stated. He’d gone deathly still. He looked sick, with his cheeks lacking blood beneath the skin and his forehead sticky with a mixture of </span>
  <em>
    <span>her </span>
  </em>
  <span>blood and his sweat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maenads. She racked her brain for information on them, but came up short. The only pieces she could remember of them was from a play about Dionysus that she read in high school, but—</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” Clarke insisted. “Maenads are loyal followers of my grandfather — they wouldn’t—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They might follow Dionysus, but they also killed your </span>
  <em>
    <span>other </span>
  </em>
  <span>grandfather’s descendants. Maybe they sense you’re part Apollo,” he suggested. His gaze flicked between the windows and she hoped his eyesight was better than hers. “Maybe there’s a mix up with their memos.” His attempt to joke fell flat. “They’re surrounding us.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The ceiling dented above her and she could only imagine one of the Maenads was dancing on the roof.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She swore. “What’s the plan?” The car lurched forward. Clarke gripped the closest thing she could get her hands on, which just so happened to be the front of Bellamy’s shirt. He didn’t speak. “Plan, plan, plan — okay. We can—” She racked her brain. “We can fight. If it’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>monsters </span>
  </em>
  <span>out there, we can—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No. They’re under Dionysus’ protection; if we hurt them, he’s obligated to punish us.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She laughed. “Then we’re in luck! I’m his </span>
  <em>
    <span>granddaughter — </span>
  </em>
  <span>do you really think he’d hurt me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes.” Her laugh died off. Bellamy finally turned to her. She could read the intensity on his face. “You might be his granddaughter, but </span>
  <em>
    <span>these</span>
  </em>
  <span> are his most loyal followers. Who do you think he’d pick to protect? Who’s easier to replace?”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Ouch.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>They didn’t have time to get into it — she didn’t have time to feel hurt. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Later.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Survive first, argue later.</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>A louder sound came from just above their heads. Through the darkness, Clarke could </span>
  <em>
    <span>just </span>
  </em>
  <span>make out the silhouette of a woman pressed against the glass of the window inches above Bellamy’s head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her mind was three steps ahead of her body. She shoved at him. “Move!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The glass above her shattered, spilling onto her raised arms. Her arms blossomed with pain from shards of glass embedding into her flesh, but her adrenaline numbed it all. Her push sent Bellamy out of the way, but—</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The momentum sent him rolling towards the front of the car. That, combined with the Maenads pounding on the exterior, caused hell to rain down. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The car lurched forward. A sick snapping sound echoed through the forest. The teenagers around them laughed with giddiness.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A wave of dread crashed through when she realized exactly what was happening.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The car gave a final lurch before—</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clarke fell forward, nearly falling onto Bellamy before catching the seat to steady herself. She felt disoriented from the tipping of the car earlier, but looking out the windows now, she couldn’t tell what was going on. The world blurred and, for a dizzying second, she couldn’t tell if </span>
  <em>
    <span>they </span>
  </em>
  <span>were moving or if the world was.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Maenads on the hood of the car jumped out of the way, laughing and calling for their god all the while. As soon as the last one jumped off the car, Clarke saw it—</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>The drop.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>They were rolling down the cliff, headed towards the drop.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She moved on primal instinct.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clarke scrambled to the backseat again, her legs shaking and her fingers numb. Bellamy was saying something, but he felt so far away. He followed her, climbing away from where he fell earlier on the center console, and instantly dove towards one of his bags.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clarke, on the other hand, was desperate. She yanked on the door handle, this time throwing her whole body weight into it. It didn’t budge.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The wet leaves slapped against the side of the car, the branches scraped against the windows—</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Trees turned into blurs as they flew by. The night was silent apart from the low rumble of thunder in the distance and the sound of water slapping earth. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They were </span>
  <em>
    <span>clearly </span>
  </em>
  <span>not on a road anymore; the car lurched to the side as they drove through a large dip. Bellamy let out a gasp as his breath was thrown from his lungs. Clarke stuck her head out the busted window, craning her neck to get a glance of the world around them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We need to—” She lifted her arm just in time to block a tree branch, soaking and stinging the skin as they whipped by it. “We need to go!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’re going too fast to jump,” Bellamy said, at her side again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They somehow squeezed into the space together, both their heads poking out the window. Another dip of the ground made them bump together.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The wind and the water made it impossible to keep her eyes open for more than a split second at a time and, every time she blinked, they grew closer and closer to the edge.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her heart was pounding so loud that it was all she could hear — just a steady drum, washing away the sounds of the wet mud under the tires, and the trees scraping the car, and—</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They were getting closer to the steep dip of the mountain — closer to the pit of darkness, and what Clarke assumed would be their deaths.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bellamy pulled out of the window and began to shuffle around the car. She hesitated a second longer, her gaze locked on the cliff edge, before following. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her ears rang and her vision blurred, but she could see him </span>
  <em>
    <span>so clearly. </span>
  </em>
  <span>In his hands was his bow and the quiver full of celestial bronze tipped arrows was strapped across his back. He was busy digging for something in his bag and, only when the sky lit up with lightning, was she able to see what he was doing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His gaze pierced hers. His hands didn’t stop moving. “Do you trust me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Those four simple words had been plaguing her thoughts ever since she first met him in that elevator in Las Vegas, with his ridiculous floral shirt and wide sunglasses. She’d doubted it, when they were pressed against each other in the elevator and the truth came out — and she doubted it again earlier that day. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>The answer was effortless now.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes,” she said, “yes, </span>
  <em>
    <span>I trust you.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>It was because of that trust that she agreed to his half-assed plan, even though she knew they were more likely to die than see the next sunrise.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was because of that trust that she tied the end of the rope around her hips when he handed it to her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was because of that trust that she hauled ass out the broken window and plastered herself to the dented roof, her hair fanning out of her like it was a live creature. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And it was that same trust that </span>
  <em>
    <span>he </span>
  </em>
  <span>took her offered hand. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>He trusted her too. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He didn’t have to say it — she could feel it in the way that he gripped her hand, she could see it in the way that his eyes locked on hers, she could </span>
  <em>
    <span>feel</span>
  </em>
  <span> it in the way that he put his faith in her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clarke was instantly soaked as soon as she was on the roof. The slick metal didn’t have a place to grab, so she clung to the rope around her hips. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She clung to </span>
  <em>
    <span>him.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Clarke grasped Bellamy’s arm with everything she was worth as she pulled him from the speeding car beneath her. Their bodies were tied together with the same piece of rope, intertwining their fates — for better or for worse. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He kneeled on the roof beside her, his hands free to notch an arrow. She clung to the edges of the car, keeping them both from slipping off the slick roof and falling to their deaths.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Now!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clarke grit her teeth and held onto the side of the roof with all of her strength while he leaned over the edge opposite to her. She couldn’t see anything; she couldn’t even hear the </span>
  <em>
    <span>pang </span>
  </em>
  <span>of the bow string being drawn back and released. She had to trust him, and trust that he’d get the job done.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>What she </span>
  <em>
    <span>did </span>
  </em>
  <span>hear was the blow out of the front tire, and she felt the car lurch to the side, and Bellamy tug on the rope. She almost skidded onto the hood as the car quickly decelerated.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Clarke! Now!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She didn’t have to be told twice.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They slid down the back of the car together and tumbled to the ground. Clarke’s shoulder connected with the wet mud below, sending jolts of pain radiating through her body. She choked on her breath, suddenly not able to think, never mind breathe, past the pain. Stars flashed before her eyes as she continued to tumble down the side of the mountain.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her ears were still ringing with pain and the world still felt so far away when she was jerked to a stop. The rope around her hips pulled so tight that she knew her skin would be bruised the next day.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bellamy let out a grunt as the rope went tight with tension. He had managed to grab hold of a tree root as they tumbled downhill, effectively saving both of them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Not even seconds after she stopped rolling, the car let out a pathetic squeal. Metal creaked as their faithful companion became airborne and—</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It disappeared into the darkness, hurdling over the cliffside.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The rain was too heavy to hear its impact on the ground below.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clarke lay in the dirt, gasping for air. Her chest heaved. Her pulse raced. She could feel her head pounding with her own heartbeat. Her fingers were frozen thanks to the rain and adrenaline.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>They were alive.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Weren’t they?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Still gasping for air, she turned her head in the direction the rope was pulling. Bellamy lay five feet away from her, his back to the ground, gasping for air. He was as soaked as she was, with his curls plastered to his forehead and his clothing stuck to him like a second skin.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bell— Bellamy—” she gasped, her breathing ragged. “Are you okay? Are you hurt?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Despite wanting to pull herself up and towards him, she couldn’t find the energy to. All she could do was tug on the end of the rope and hope for a reaction.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He tugged back on the rope gently. “I’m good.” Her head fell to the ground as a wave of relief stronger than the storm rolled through her. She was shocked at just how </span>
  <em>
    <span>scared </span>
  </em>
  <span>she had been for him. “You? You’re good?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her mouth had been filled with blood from where she swore she broke her nose. Her arms had more glass in them than what remained on the car. She had been thrown around like a doll and yet—</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>She laughed.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>She laughed because </span>
  <em>
    <span>they fucking lived.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>They jumped off a speeding car into the middle of a fucking forest and </span>
  <em>
    <span>lived.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>And they did it together.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>She rolled onto her side, her legs curling up from the force of her laughter. The blood on her face washed away from the rain and it stung her open wounds, but </span>
  <em>
    <span>it felt so good to be alive.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Clarke?” Bellamy was beside her suddenly, his hand on her shoulder and his body blocking the rain. “What’s wrong? Why are you crying?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She laughed harder.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was when his hands began to gently probe her head for wounds when she finally broke. “No— No, I’m </span>
  <em>
    <span>fine.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re </span>
  <em>
    <span>crying.</span>
  </em>
  <span> You’re not—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Their eyes locked. He was </span>
  <em>
    <span>so </span>
  </em>
  <span>much closer than she expected him to be. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It did nothing to stop the giddiness rising in her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bellamy stared at her for a moment longer before peering up the side of the mountain, in the direction they came from. He shielded his eyes against the rain. His face fell.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Damn it,” he growled. “Nothing. No sign of them.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Even though his words reminded Clarke that the loyal followers of her grandfather just tried to murder them, she couldn’t stop laughing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We </span>
  <em>
    <span>did </span>
  </em>
  <span>that,” she said, her words barely coming out between her laughs. “We just— We </span>
  <em>
    <span>did that, </span>
  </em>
  <span>and </span>
  <em>
    <span>we lived, </span>
  </em>
  <span>and </span>
  <em>
    <span>our car is gone, </span>
  </em>
  <span>and </span>
  <em>
    <span>we almost died, </span>
  </em>
  <span>and </span>
  <em>
    <span>I trust you.” </span>
  </em>
  <span>She swiped the tears — or the rain, she wasn’t sure — away from her eyes and grinned up at him. “We fucking did it!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When their eyes met again, the breath was knocked out of her chest. She lay there, with her back pressed to the muddy earth, and the rain stealing all her warmth, and her body </span>
  <em>
    <span>aching-</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>And he was there.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bellamy was staring down at her with an intensity in his eyes that she hadn’t seen before. When a lightning bolt forked across the sky, she could see the details of his face; the water running down his jaw, his curls hanging in front of his eyes, his eyes wide and burning, the freckles dusting his cheeks like the stars in the sky, the scar above his parted lips.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A beat passed where they were both silent.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>They just stared.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Then, Bellamy bent closer to her, his expression free and open with absolute bliss. It was impossible for her not to join in on his laughter. Seconds passed before they were both flat on the forest floor once again, unable to speak from their sheer joy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh gods,” she gasped. “We— We were almost murdered!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bellamy laughed harder. </span>
  <em>
    <span>She liked his laugh.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He managed to get out a few words before descending into laughter again. “Why are we laughing?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And, really, the answer was simple.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>If they couldn’t laugh — what </span>
  <em>
    <span>could </span>
  </em>
  <span>they do? Spiral because they almost flew off the edge of a mountain in Colorado? Cry because Bellamy’s car just died by soaring into the unknown, leaving them stranded on the side of a mountain in the middle of a thunderstorm, with nothing but the clothes on their backs, a piece of rope around their hips, and whatever Bellamy managed to stuff in his backpack? Scream because, just when she </span>
  <em>
    <span>thought </span>
  </em>
  <span>she had some control over her life again, the Fates swooped in to remind her that, no, she has no control over her life — none of them did?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And, best yet, was the </span>
  <em>
    <span>irony </span>
  </em>
  <span>of it all. Just hours ago, she had been lying awake, wondering if she trusted Bellamy or not; now, with their car hurdling towards certain death, she was forced to come to the conclusion that—</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Yes. She did trust Bellamy.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>She trusted Bellamy then, just as she would continue to do.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Clarke continued to laugh because their car died, and they were soaking wet, and they lived.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>They lived, and it was glorious.</span>
  </em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>If you're wondering where I've been, I'm currently living my best life writing fic for a new fandom of mine. If you've watched Julie and the Phantoms on Netflix, feel free to scream with me in the comments because the show is just so warm and fun and light. If you haven't watched it.... go watch Julie and the Phantoms and Netflix and TELL YOUR FRIENDS!</p><p>Thank you for reading!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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